Case Files
by watermelon.drops
Summary: AU. A collection of cases that bring about a startling realization, and about a million different reasons why she should walk away from it.
1. Case With the Little Black Dress

**Case Files. **

**By: Watermelon . Drops**

**Chapter One:**

**The Case With the Little Black Dress. . .**

She threw herself in front of a bullet the day he came to work without a shirt.

Yeah, insinuating that she'd literally stepped into the line of fire, allowed a solid piece of metal to pierce and inevitably muck up her insides, would be a bit of a stretch - but it'd crossed her mind a few times that day.

_There was blood all over it_, he'd said. _Wearing it would be kind of unprofessional_, he'd said. Right. As if coming to work, chest and abs and every friggin' inch of that horribly attractive upper body out in the open and all glaring and sexy and junk was the vision of 5-0 professionalism. Pfft. Who was he kidding? Damn him. Damn him and all of those thousands of different ways she could put those delectably plump pecs of his to use - and if she hadn't been the resourceful, intelligent person she was, she'd have let those thoughts and images run rampant through her mind until she'd have been completely helpless and out of control. But she's awesome - and that's precisely how she ended up in her office, arms limp in her lap, forehead rising - and promptly crashing back down to her desk, effectively dislodging said thoughts and images, therein returning her to a stable, no-nonsense mindset. Painful but efficient. Yep - that's how she rolls.

"Right, so this is how we're gonna pull this off. . -"

She'd successfully disbursed position number one hundred thirty two when he traipsed his bossy, irritating, _half naked_ ass through her door and plopped something on her desk, proceeding to babble on about some undercover mission and a little black dress with her name on it. She let her head (ignoring the slight throbbing) fall to her desk one more time before she drew her neck up, let her back stretch out a bit and dropped her chin to her desk, watched Command-Me-Not pace the length of her office.

"_Another_ mission, Steve? Really?"

"Look, Danny, I know we've kind of been stretched thin lately, but -"

"I _despise_ that word when you say it, did you know that? Do you know how much you make me hate regular human vocabulary? Do you realize what you do to me?"

Kono rolled her eyes, refusing to indulge in Danny's borderline-ridiculous whining. "Can we focus, please?"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Danny grumbles, a little unhappily with the way his hands begin to flail, his hair already starting to fall out of place. "Since when does she-devil get to demand focus be regained? Have we fallen into some warped universe? Has the Earth as we know it fallen from it's axis and begun some kind of devastating hurtle towards certain death and -"

"_Enough_, already," boss-man huffs, grumping a little uncharacteristically. "I know we're frustrated, I get it, we need a day off. But this is -"

"_Important_," Chin, Danny and Kono recite together, eyes rising to the ceiling. "_Life threatening, the case of cases, unavoidable_."

Danny frowns, squeaks out a discernibly mocking, "_we get it_."

A sigh from tight lips, exasperation finally cracking an otherwise impenetrable demeanor. "I swear to you, after this, we'll all go on a mini vacation."

Kono sits up, leans back against undeniably plush leather. She knows Danny is probably biting down some sarcastic shot at Steve, Chin is probably choking on an overly intelligent way of handling their 'predicament', and McGarrett is undoubtedly making his best attempt at avoiding offering up any more promises he knows he wont keep. So they aren't the Brady Bunch - sue em'. And it's here she tries to remember why she puts up with their dysfunctional shit - why she comes back to this hectic, mass-hysteria-type environment. She could be out giving a parking ticket, or breaking up a domestic dispute between a couple that _just cant let go_, or maybe even moving up in the ranks and talking out salary with the Narcotic Team's CO, or maybe -

"How is it that you're the one that says _'focus_' and then proceeds to _not_ pay attention?"

She blinks, beats the blush back down her neck. "Shut up, _Danno_. I know what to do."

"Really?" Chin says amusedly, leaning with an infuriating nonchalance against the far wall. "and what might that be?"

Her face is a vision of indifference, and she stares McGarrett down with all the intensity of a predator - locked and ready and about to spring into action. "You want me to dress like a skank and prance around some hoity-toity night club until Devero notices me and takes me with him to his place-of-operations." She folds her arms, raises a brow for good measure. "What?" she asks three sets of wide eyes and a mass of wounded pride, "did I crush your smug little feelings?"

"Yeah, yeah," Danny mutters dismissively. "So when do we do this thing, Captain America?"

McGarrett's sigh is answer enough.

"Wonderful," she hears Danny grumbling on his way to the door. "A full six hours to prepare a forty two hour job. . ._typical_."

Chin shrugs and makes his exit - _typical_. Leave a girl hangin' with the poster boy for every chick's deepest, darkest fantasy - like she cares. It's not like he's staring a hole through her head from across the room (_empty room, by the way_) and making her stomach clench and burn and twist in ways she only relates to very, _very_ personal experiences - oh wait, he _is_ staring a hole through her head from across the room. Surprise, surprise.

"What?" she snaps, the weight of his ridiculously gorgeous eyes making her a little self conscious.

"Nothing," he mumbles slowly, calculating. "Just want to be sure we're clear on all the details. . . You know - so that nothing happens."

"Because the rookie needs extra coaxing, right?"

He prickles, but disregards the jab with a wave of his hand. "I want everyone to come out of this whole - safe."

"I want you to stop treating me like a baby," and the words fall from her lips with such precision, such a calm poison, he hadn't had time to process anything until she's already stood and stomped from her office, leaving him in voided space, leaving him with the realization that, yes, he does treat her like a baby for reasons she nor anyone else can fathom.

Good - maybe he'll choke on it.

Lord knows she nearly does when dwelling for too long.

.

She glares at the mirror with everything she's worth which, at the moment, doesn't seem to amount to much. Her hair is strangely compliant as she pulls the curling iron from the last few strands, falling in perfect order around her shoulders. Of course, on the one day she really doesn't _care_ about her appearance, it decides to do what she asks. Where was this good behavior last week when she and McGarrett had gone to that benefit as a wealthy couple, lookin' for a new foundation to support? When they'd effectively busted that disturbingly large man for (literally) stealing money from babies? Absent, obviously, since she had to go with a frizz ball on top of her head, embarrassing both she and her oh-so-righteous Commander - even if he never said as much. She frowns at the caramel streaks marring her natural browns, frowns at the way they work so nicely with her skin tone, frowns at the way they actually look decent on her, despite her boisterous protests to the undercover-helper-lady . . .whoever she was, that it would look absolutely ridiculous. So she's a stickler for being herself, what's the big deal? Maybe she doesn't like the idea of painting her face with a bunch of loud colors and making her eyelashes stand to her eyebrows. Maybe she likes her appearance just the way it is. . . .

And yet, the makeup _does_ make her eyes look a thousand shades brighter, like someone put a flashlight behind her irises and left them on high. And her skin _does_ look ten shades of perfect, and these heels _do_ make her legs look about five pounds heavier, _without_ the flab and fat hips. And maybe the dress isn't so bad, what with the way it clings to every inch of skin it touches, showing no mercy, effectively muting the fact that she's about fifteen pounds under weight. She tries not to think about that - about the way her arms seem bony as she raises them, turns a circle for the tailor at her hip. About the way her neck sinks and dips and falls unattractively where other women's are healthy and strong. Whatever. So she's lost a bit of her meat - it's all super SEAL's fault, send him the bill for her next few meals, cause he sure has been cheap when it comes to inter-office eating. All that over time sending her bank into double digits for the first time in. . ._ever_. .and she cant even spare a second to order take out. Some life.

"Alright, I think I've _finally_ got it right," the tailor says to her thigh, his hand lingering on the inside of her knee.

Her mouth is already open to tell him to shove off, but her eyes snap to the door when she hears it slam unceremoniously into the wall.

"Hands off, needles, I think you're finished."

And some secret, girly part of her lurches at the subtle annoyance in her boss's voice.

The tailor nearly falls on his ass trying to scramble away, eyes glued solely on the oversized bully now taking up half the room. "Here's your I.D. Kono, and a few different cards with your fake name, in case they decide to check your wallet. I've got your real one right here, so no worries," he grumbles over a sheet of paper, free hand patting the right pocket in the ass of his jeans.

"Gee, thank you _so much_," she mutters, half to herself, half to her breasts that are sticking _way_ too far out of the 'neck line' of her dress. If you can call it that. "Hey, I think you need to fix this," she says to the sour looking tailor in the mirror, motioning to her ridiculous amount of cleavage.

And maybe he was going to say something, but she'll never know, because Steve stepped in front of the man's reflection, directly behind her, and his eyes were quite unforgiving as they roved over every inch of skin exposed, and maybe even every inch that wasn't. She squeezed her thighs together and frowned, refusing to let him see what those stupid eyes do to her.

"It's perfect," he breathes into her hair, stepping a little closer, chest hovering painfully close to her bare back. "He did a good job, you look . ._amazing_."

"Right, well, I find this whole thing to be a bit degrading so let's get it over with before I change my mind."

Trying her best to avoid his eyes just wasn't working in her favor when he continued to stare, face a stony, chiseled out mask. "You shouldn't feel _degraded_, you should feel. . .well. ."

She does look at him then, her brow furrowing in confusion as he struggles for words. Steve McGarrett _never_ has trouble with words, his mouth is giant and stubborn and cocky and it's forever in motion, despite everyone's pleas for it to _just be quiet_. Her eyes dip to his hands in the mirror, watch them hover strangely, hesitantly, over her hips, fingers only barely grazing the material of the dress. She watches with a defensive detachment as they finally come down palms first, squeezing a little harder than she'd expected, watches as fingertips turn white against the protests of her hip bones, finally looks up and watches his eyes watch his hands. . .what the hell? She flinches at the discomfort in his features, frowns at the appearance of aneurism face. If it's so fuckin' difficult to be near her well he can just -

"You should feel beautiful," he whispers into thick air, slicing through the haze his hands have created. "You look beautiful."

Despite loud, headache inducing denial - exterior starts to crack beneath that weird, weighing way he's looking at her, his eyes meeting hers in the mirror, his face relaxing a little when he sees her staring right back. And maybe she should have moved away when he finally (_finally_) pressed his chest into her, when his hands slid around to her stomach, when his lips came down to her ear, when she closed her eyes in a last ditch effort to regain her sanity, when. . .

"So since you've ruined my weekend, you think we can get going? I'd like to have this finished before dawn, ya know? That sleep thing. . .it kind of gets important after _not having it_ for days at a time."

She nearly fell backwards when he jerked away, and his face was classic McGarrett indifference by the time she gathered enough courage to look in his direction. He was reading something on the paper he brought in with him and passed it to Danny when he entered the room, his voice carrying on, as if he couldn't feel the awkward tension floating around. No. He probably couldn't, oblivious as can be.

"Everything is in place," Steve says to the three of them when Chin finally shows up, both he and Danny staring at her like she's grown a third leg. "As long as he reacts the way we hope he will, I think we'll be finished before dawn, as Danny so graciously supplied."

He finishes his little spiel and nearly chokes when he finds Danny staring at that stupid black dress. That provocative, reason defying, horribly sexy, stupid, stupid, _stupid_ little dress.

"Whoaaaa, _Kono_! Look at you!" Danny stands from his lean, a smug grin tugging at his lips, brows shot to his hairline, and when he starts to circle, Kono cant help but give a little smirk. "You should doll yourself up all the time, I think our missions would go _a lot_ smoother. . ." he runs a finger over her shoulder as he passes, smiling. "for us, anyway."

"Is that right?" she half laughs, shoving him playfully. "I'm not dressing up so you can parade me around as a distraction, ya freak."

Their laughter is diffused by an irritated sounding grunt from somewhere by the door, and when she looks, she wishes she hadn't.

"Are we gonna stand around and goof off, or finish our _job_? You remember, that thing we have to do sometimes. . .working, catching bad guys, maybe you forgot?"

Kono frowns at his mood, at the stiff way he's standing before them, at the narrowing of his eyes, at the folding of his arms. Who the hell is he, anyway? The fun-police? Almighty - strike her down! She and Danny's joking was sooo out of line. . .

"What the hell's your problem, Steve-O?"

Chin coughs - fake as they come. "Right, so, let's go. ."

"No, no, no," Danny protests loudly, moving to stand directly in the middle of the room. "I wanna know what's got you so twisted aluva sudden. I walk in here and the first thing you do is start nagging - _quit playing around, Danny! Don't appreciate Kono's pretty dress, Danny! Stop all that unnecessary smiling, Danny!_ - nag, nag, nag! Jesus, you're like an old woman! What's goin' on?"

McGarrett shifts, suspiciously, as if he's been caught with his hand in the cookie jar, eyes averting everyone until they settle on the floor.

"I just. ." and she's never seen him look so uncertain . . Well - except for a minute ago, you know, when he got all touchy-feely and junk. "Maybe a vacation is a good idea, after all."

Danny harrumphs - "Ha! I knew you were just as tired as me. Even super SEAL's have limits, you jerk. And you were making me feel all inferior with your stupid little speeches. Pfft."

"Yeah, yeah," Steve concedes lightly, "let's go."

She ignores the way he watches her until she's inside the club and away from cameras and communication and backup - _stupid, stupid dress_.

.

"It's refreshing to find someone so. . ._dignified_ . .in a building full of flashy and absurd," Devero tells her sweetly, brushing a strand of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. _Eew_. "I'm glad we met, Hannah, really. You're - different - from other girls I date."

She had to choke down the vomit threatening to invade her mouth - so much for quick and easy. "That's . . ._sweet_."

Three. Friggin'. Hours.

Wining and dining and dancing and fake smiling - _Jesus_, when was this guy gonna get to the nitty-gritty? He'd brought her to his warehouse about forty five minutes ago, promising an unforgettable night after he finished up his business. Whatever. She just needed to get an eye on the drugs, and the girls, and then she could give the signal, be on her merry way, and get started on that vacation Command-O was going on about. But nooooo . . . - she's been reduced to being coddled in a grungy drug house, spoken to like a brain dead twelve year old, and felt up by one of the most unattractive men she's had the displeasure of busting.

Jerk.

She was never talking to her team-mates again. Ever.

"I cant wait to get you home," he was saying, eyes hooded and hands growing bolder by the second. "You're so _beautiful_."

Wonderful. Remind her, yet again, of her socially incapable boss. Who does that? Who corners someone in front of a mirror and touches and whispers and -

"Are you alright?"

She starts and turns back to the guy to her right - half on top of her. "What?"

"You seem. . .distracted."

She noticed the displeasure in his voice, the suspicious glint in his eye. "I'm sorry," she breathed, giggling. "I think I had a little too much to drink," she amended sweetly, calmly. "My head's kind of spinning."

He smiles, seemingly satisfied. "Ohhh," he says through a chuckle. "I thought maybe you were growing uninterested. . .we cant have that, now can we?"

Her brow raised, "of course not." _Creep_.

It wasn't a total lie. She _did_ drink a lot. Not that she had much of a choice. With this guy shoving cocktail after cocktail off on her, and the _need_ she felt when he started in on the touching, she'd thrown back quite a bit. It's not like she'd intended on getting drunk - just needed to take the edge off so that she could _not_ flinch and run and start throwing punches every time his hand _coincidentally_ ended up on her bare thigh.

_Stupid, stupid dress_.

She looked up when one of Devero's goons stepped in the room, frowned when she saw him staring at her. "A word, sir?"

_Uh oh._

They've spoken in front of her all night, even about business stuff. She'd won him over, gained his trust through his disgustingly large sex drive. Now _this guy_ was going to ruin all that hard work. All the drinking and giggling and friggin' touching - all of it for nothing after he tells Devero she's a cop. There's no doubt - the guy obviously knows. The frown and the narrowed eyes and the rigid set of his shoulders says it all. She sighs, but doesn't protest. What good would it do, anyway?

"Go ahead and say whatever it is you've got to say, me and Miss James will soon be on our way, I don't want to waste anymore time."

She stands and click-clacks over to one of the large posts in the center of the room, desperately trying to force the heat and giddiness the alcohol so graciously provided away from her immediate brain function. She needed to think - plan. She needed a plan.

"Fine," the bulky man said, nearly pouting with the way he harrumphed and glared at her. "Your sweet little _Hannah_, is a cop."

And there it was, out in the open, laughing hysterically at her and that stupid grin that just _wouldn't_ go away. _Why are you grinning, idiot? You're going to die_.

She rolls her eyes, mostly at herself. "Oh, what are you yapping about, ya big oaf?"

"I'm _talking_ about _you_ being a _cop_. 5-0 no less."

Ouch. How the hell did he know _that_? Nobody around this area is familiar with 5-0 or what it does - especially unfamiliar with it's members, seeing as they've come up with this nifty little way of making their more trusty convicts tell all kinds of fibs about these bad-ass buff dudes in black that call themselves 5-0. Nobody knows there's a chick on the team. It's exactly how they made it to be - beefed up testosterone junkies with heavy fists and quick trigger fingers. It's supposed to be scary, off putting, for guys like these.

Le sigh. Story of her life.

"Ha! That's hilarious," she says noncommittally, shrugging. "I think your guy's been snorting crack."

Devero laughs a little, but it dies out way too quickly to have been real. And so she's standing, half naked no less, in a building full of drugs and guns and big men with short tempers - yippee. But she doesn't let it get to her, chugs right along with her cover story.

"And how exactly am I supposed to be '_5-0'_, when I just moved back here a whole two weeks ago?"

The footsteps don't throw her off - but the first punch does. It knocks her off balance, heels buckling and sending her shoulder first to the concrete. _Ouch_.

"What the -" she starts, holding the side of her face like she's never taken a hit before. Though, as hard as this guy hits, she doubts she'll remember any before this one if he decides to continue on. "What the hell is _wrong_ with you!"

Devero sighs, seeming truly exasperated. Whoop-dee-doo. Her face is on fire, so there. "You can cut the act, Hannah, or whatever your name is. I know who you are."

"What are you talking about?"

"I have a friend - name of Tyrone Bishop, I think you busted him a few weeks back. Called me, warning me about the 5-0 Captain and his newfound interest in my business."

Shit. She remembers that guy. So much for trusty.

"What does any of this have to do with me?"

Yeah, she's pushing it, and she knows it, but what else is she supposed to do? Too far away from the door to yell, to give a signal, too close to these goons with guns to do anything with them without getting shot to pieces.

"Funny story, actually," he muses, smiling a weird little smile. "One of my men decided to stop for some Shave Ice at this little beach side joint before reporting back to me. . ."

She closes her eyes and denies the groan escape from her chest.

"Seems that Steve McGarrett was seen there, with a woman fitting your description, having themselves a cozy little lunch. Ring any bells?"

She doesn't respond, but she doesn't have to, because he obviously already checked up on her, obviously knew who she was the second he saw her. Peachy. Now _she_ looks like the bumbling idiot. She pulls herself from the floor, leaving her heels where they belong - _off her feet_.

"So what? Maybe I'm 5-0, maybe not. Who says a girl cant go out sometimes? Who's to say I wasn't just lookin' for a good time?"

"I'm a criminal, lady," he says defensively, "not an idiot."

- Insert _really_ bad idea here -

Her feet make a funky little sound as they slap against the hard floor, her breath already coming in short, hurried gasps. She's made it about halfway down the long stretch before the first shot pops off, whizzing by her head. Well, now everyone outside knows she's in trouble. Now she doesn't have to go out screaming, _Don't let them shoot me, you idiots!_

"You better stop, little lady," she hears Devero shout, "I don't wanna have to kill you."

Pfft, whatever. And she pumps her legs a little faster, noting the lack of gunfire from behind, refusing to let it scare her, though running like this, back turned, coordination a little off - she's a ripe, pristine little target, awaiting execution. Ass holes. Like this dress was made for running or something . . .maybe that's why they gave her a head start. . .

Because when her hands smack against the heavy green doors and she shoves them open, bursts from the warehouse, hair whipping, dress riding up past her embarrassingly feminine underwear, she hears another clap just as she catches sight of McGarrett rounding a squad car, gun drawn, coming towards her. She remembers thinking that he's going to kill her, running at her as hard as he is, just before she falls forward and her face cracks against rough cement. Rounds sound off from every direction and she can hear shouts, protests, pleas and demands as she struggles to breathe past the thick lump bubbling up in her throat. Her eyes are burning behind closed lids and she could almost swear she swallowed a bomb at some point during the day and it just went off somewhere in her stomach. Everything is in a fog; the half numb throbbing slowly working it's way out of her body, the gathering fluid slowly trickling around her face - and the sounds. . .they slowly start to die out, like fading echoes, like the final lines in a really badly directed play . . .

And as if someone detected the harmony, the stillness she was finally giving into, she feels her head lift from the ground, her body shifted and maneuvered until she's nearly sitting up, something a little softer cradling her head. There's something nagging in her ear, something she cant quite grasp, and when she opens her eyes, she wishes she had the strength to roll them. McGarrett is over her, his free hand frantically moving up and down her body, what she can only assume to be her blood streaked and trailed up and down his arm. His lips are moving and she guesses he's trying to talk to her, but everything is just a really annoying ring. Her brows furrow against crust and dirt on her forehead, fog and disillusionment clearing enough for her to see the uncharacteristic emotions flickering in and out of his eyes. Is it _that bad_? And then a really disturbing thought strikes her - this is how he'll remember her. For all the mornings she's worn jeans a _little_ tighter than necessary, flaunted her bikini when it was absolutely _not_ necessary, and opted to fix her hair rather than leave it in the messy night-before bun; every time Steve McGarrett thinks of her from this point forward, he'll see her here, bloody and disgusting, messy and _so_ unattractive. What the hell did she do to deserve this?

She's pulled from her horrifying realization by her face, a comfortable sort of numb since initial impact, suddenly tingling and crackling back to life. Great. If there was anything she'd been looking forward to, it'd been the lack of feeling she'd endure after whatever beating she was going to get. In her haste, she'd forgotten about the provisional-bit.

"Kono?" and it sounds like he's talking under water, "Kono, can you hear me? Answer me," he nearly whispers, and it pisses her off that she's got a hole in her somewhere, probably a bullet, and he's still making demands, quiet or no.

She opens her mouth to respond, probably not something he'd want to hear, when it hits her full force, and it's all she can do not to let out the girliest wail imaginable. She thinks of Rachel, Danny's . . . _thing_. .thinks of that time those thugs pulled a gun on her, remembers her shrieks and whimpers and . ._ack!_ - she is _so not_ that type of woman. And so she grinds her teeth together, eyes clasping shut, features screwing and coiling until she's sure her muscles are going to explode from over exertion.

"Where the fuck is that bus?"

_Yes! Where is the bus!_ Only assuming Rambo is referring to the ambulance they undoubtedly put out for. The ease in which shifting positions has made breathing seems to dissipate under all the pressure the pain has put on her body, and lack of air seems to effect more than just mindset. Brain function grinded to dust, panic takes over and Steve's eyes widen when her body starts to shake, softly at first, gradually worsening until she's a flailing, groaning mess in his arms. Maybe had she been feeling a little better, she'd have been mortified at the circumstances in which she finds herself cradled to his chest, his lips pressed to her forehead, murmuring incomprehensibles meant to be comforting. But she wasn't, and absolutely nothing passes through her mind outside of _'oh my God' _before bright lights and a thousand blurs of movement are replaced with darkness.

.

A combination of loud noises and harsh movements opt to ruin the peaceful unconsciousness she'd founded. She feels several pricks to her right, in her arm limp at her side, feels pinching and prodding and just _pain_ everywhere else. There's something though. . .in her hair, she realizes, and when she cracks one eye open, there are no sarcastic thoughts to be had. He's staring at her, not her cuts or wounds or the medics in the ambulance with them - just her. His fingers are tracing softly - _so very softly_ - through the bit of unmated hair at her scalp, and she thinks it's the nicest thing anyone's ever done for her. He doesn't have to be here, he's just her boss, has no obligations to her outside of keeping her from being taken captive by the enemy. His job ended back at the warehouse, and she thinks that's what makes this moment so intimate. The glassiness of his eyes remind her that they're friends, the gentleness in his touch remind her that sometimes, away from prying eyes, they're more than that, but it's the little quirk of his lips that remind her of all those times they've been here - outside of the confines of work, just two people, sometimes four, with too many problems and very few to share them with. And when he sees her looking back at him, all that defensiveness melts and she cant remember why she'd avoided getting closer to him, why they fight so hard _not_ to be best friends. Because she and Danny are best friends, just like he and the shorter, more ornery of their squad are. They're both equally as close with Chin, as are Chin and Danny, so why the distance, she finally wonders. Why is it that they've put that barrier up?

"We need to sedate her," one of the medics is saying off in the distance, away from the bliss that are Steve McGarrett's eyes, but she cant really care all that much right now. Because he's still looking at her, and has he ever looked at her like _that_ before? No. She doesn't think he has. Nor does she think she's ever let him.

"Sir?"

Steve blinks but doesn't look away. "Why?"

"Because we cant keep pumping her with pain meds and I don't think they'll help much longer."

The smile she didn't realize was on her lips falls a little when he frowns, when he does look away, when he nods his approval. And before she goes under she sees it all over again; defense, walls, lies, denial. Everything that keeps them apart, and it takes over his eyes and steels the deceitful blues and greens an unyielding grey. She could be mad when she wakes up (if she remembers) but she's no hypocrite, and she knows she does the exact same thing whenever they find themselves in an equally vulnerable situation. And she remembers why they stay away as she sleeps and dreams of seconds and moments and nothingness that has become her everyday - her every_thing_.

.

It's a torturous thing; the sun.

It wakes you up from your most comfortable sleeps, interrupts your most beautiful dreams, it scorches your skin and hurts your eyes. It's a jerk on a good day - a spiteful, hateful, _evil_ ball of gas on a bad one, medium one. . ._whatever. _

And today is apparently her day.

As if things hadn't been weird enough waking up in the hospital, to a battered body and pain, pain, _pain_ - her team mates had been a _completely_ different story. Doting and sweet and seemed to be _always_ present. At least two of them. Chin and Danny took shifts, and Rachel had even stopped by with a home cooked meal. Danny brought Grace by every few days and the three of them chatted it up and watched T.V. until the doctor said it was alright for her to move around a bit, in which case the three of them opted to take walks rather than sit on their bums and do nothing. She helped Grace with her homework when Danny was called out on a job, the selfless little thing apparently wishing to stay at the hospital with a busted up cop rather than go home to the situation that was Rachel and her husband. Smart girl.

But today? Today was especially odd. She'd accepted the fact that Steve probably wouldn't show his face when he wasn't there upon her first venture back to the world of the living. He'd been absent for the first week, and the second, and she hadn't bothered to hope for him to show up on the third. She'd spooked him somehow, shattering their secret, weird little boundaries when she'd been shot, and he was obviously incapable of handling it. Maybe they needed this. Maybe the time away was important in maintaining the tentative relationship they had going on, the walk-on-eggshells sort of mornings and book-it-to-your-car sort of evenings. Maybe they _couldn't_ be friends outside of work like he and Danny and she and Chin.

And yet . . .

"How ya feelin'?

"Like you don't know," she said without opening her eyes, that damn sun lighting her room to ridiculous shades of bright. "Danny said he keeps you posted."

He frowns but doesn't move, still sitting idly in the chair farthest from her bed. "Yeah, he does."

The silence isn't telling, it isn't revolutionary and she doesn't receive some sort of contentment from him _finally_ showing up. She isn't happy about it, but cant bring herself to be angry, either. So she keeps her mouth closed, unsure of his intentions, unsure of what's left to say after everything that's happened. The eggshells are familiar, and she kind of likes their reappearance.

"I'm here to take you home," he finally breaks the awkwardness, finally says something she _sort of_ wants to hear. "The nurses have gathered your things and I've taken them to my truck. Whenever you're ready, we'll go."

She sits up and completely ignores the weak protests in her stomach, as distant as they've become, staring at him with something akin to shock. "Nobody told me anything about me going home. . .the doc said -"

"The doctor called me this morning, says he thinks you'll recover better on your own turf, on your own time. Something about being cooped up and unable to cope," he pauses and glances up at her, frowning unhappily. "He says you've been having nightmares, that this place is only making it worse. Reminding you."

How. Embarrassing.

"I - it's not what he thinks. He should have asked me before calling you and getting you involved. I'm not dreaming about what happened that night, it's completely -"

"What _did_ happen that night," he cuts her off, standing and folding his arms. "Danny gave me some of the details but they were clipped. I wanna know everything."

"Now?" and she tries not to be offended (_a little hurt_) that he can change the subject back to work so quickly, so easily.

"Yes, now." His frown is deep and his eyes are hard, his muscles tight and tense against his black t-shirt. "You could have been killed."

"No shit," she snaps, irritated. "I was kinda there, _brah_, in case you haven't noticed." She ignores the squaring of his shoulders at her pissy tone, carries on hurriedly. "Everything was peachy until we got to that warehouse. Even then he was. .well. . - he was still into me, playin' with my hair, tellin' me I'm beautiful, that he wants to take me home. One of his men came in and wanted to speak with him, Devero made him stay, told him to just go ahead and say it. The guy told him I was a cop, even knew I was 5-0 -"

"What? How?"

She glares at his interruption and ignores the concern he's trying so hard to hide. For her or for their team, she's not sure. "Tyrone Bishop. Apparently he flipped. . . Well, flipped _back_. All he told them was that you were interested in Devero's operations."

"How did they know about you?"

"One of his guy's saw us at Kamekona's eating lunch, he didn't give a specific date, just that his man called and they did their research, finally figured out who I was."

McGarrett sighed, hand running down his face, as if warding off the unwanted info. "Alright," he says quietly, "alright. ."

Silence returned and he just stood there, staring at the floor, their strange arrangement still cracked and raw, neither sure how to broach the other. Neither sure what to say. How to return to the ease, to the half-comfortable way in which they used to tease and joke. All because of a near-death-experience. . .though she thinks maybe it's more than that, remembering the way he'd looked at her, how soft and caring he'd been in the ambulance.

And as if picking up on her thoughts, he stiffened, hands dropping to his sides. "You ready?"

Since when did he get to be the snappy, stand-offish one?

"I guess," she says softly to the voided space, occupied only seconds before by someone she still, after all this time, cant understand.

.

So the sun wasn't _that _bad. It had felt pretty amazing on her skin after being stuck in that hospital for a full month, just like the wind had felt and smelled so amazing barreling through the open window of McGarrett's truck. Her limbs had much appreciated the exertion and she could feel everything slowly reigniting, coming back to life. She was still sore, her stomach still burning every time she turns or sits up or does anything else, really. It had taken the blunt of the blow, the bullet going straight through, but her face and head had taken a beating of their own against that damnable pavement. Still, a light concussion, a busted nose, a fractured cheek bone and a swollen lip are nothing compared to the destruction that has been her stomach over the past few weeks.

She's really happy to be home.

Nothing about her house is dark, nothing about it is even relative to what happened that night, and she'd felt loads better just walking through the door, as if some of the weight has already been lifted. Steve went ahead of her, carrying all the stuff Danny and Chin had brought to the hospital to make her more comfortable (_gag_) and she was in the kitchen when he finally reappeared.

"I put all your stuff away, put the bags in your closet, so you wont have to worry about unpacking. I've installed house phones in the living room, dining, kitchen, both bathrooms, your bedroom, and there's a satellite phone on the patio out back. You should still carry your cell around in case you fall or something happens and you cant get to the phone -"

"Wow," she deadpans, grumpily leaning against the counter. "Surprised you didn't order me Life Alert, since I'm so frickin' helpless n' all."

Even with a scowl, his face as he moves toward her, his eyes, drinking in every bit of her in that strong, unforgiving way, still manage to light her on fire. "You were _shot_, Kono. In the back. You've been out of the hospital for a whole thirty minutes, and you really shouldn't be home so soon at all. I'm trying to be sure you have options should something happen, and I never said you were helpless. That's just you being cynical and, if we're being honest, ungrateful."

Her eyes are wide when she tries to push away from the counter, her mind whirling around all the thousands of ways she could bust his chops, make him feel like shit, all the faults she could throw back in his face. And she's still trying to pick which one when she loses her balance (_shut up, she just tripped_) and hobbles forward, and into him, trying not to fall on her face. She hits his chest with a loud _'oomph_', and his arms are under hers, wrapped around her, pulling her back up before she can catch her breath. And _my god_ her abdomen is on fire, and it shows on her face, in her shoulders, as she stays hunched into him, breath catching and eyes watering (_adding to her embarrassment_).

"You okay?"

She's surprised he doesn't sound smug, like he wants to say _I told you so_. But his voice was soft and she thinks that throws her off even more, his face giving away nothing in the silence that's becoming something like an icon between the two.

"My stomach," she whispers, humiliated in the way a blush rises from her neck, to her jaw, to her cheeks. . .

"Let me see."

She wants to smack his hand away, tell him to shove off and get the hell out of her house, but that would mean her having to check on herself, and let's just say she hasn't been paying much attention in the care of her wounds. And really, she's feeling a bit faint, if you can believe it. His hands lay flat against her sides, slowly bunching up the material of her shirt, and she really does try to keep her face from falling into the dip in his neck -_ really_. But it's all so much work and his fingers have pulled back the gauze from her stomach and it's all starting to catch up to her; the pain, the stress. She lets herself delve into the feel of his skin, that smell that is cologne and outside and ocean and so _McGarrett_ that it's intoxicating. Her nose is tracing the outline of his neck, and her hands are on his shoulders, squeezing, holding on. He falls still when her lips touch the square in his jaw, when her breath catches and then releases in a slow, hot fog. She doesn't know why she's doing this, has no clue as to why she's pushing boundaries that are already blurred, reddening an already raw situation. They've barely talked, he's only just come to see her, she's only just realizing that she's kinda missed him, and all of it is a huge blow to her pride. He's her boss, she's the rookie, and it's so unethical that it's sickening. But his face is something like the sun when it's being nice, on days like today when it warms her and reminds her of her childhood. His body is like fire and ice, heating her until she's sure she'll be marred and could never, _ever_ be the same - and then cooling her until all wounds are healed and contentment is all that's left in the freezing over of feeling and restlessness and pride. It's unnerving, what he does to her, and he doesn't even know. Doesn't - because she'd never tell him, not even on her death bed, not even if he said it first. . .

"Kono?"

Her cheeks flare an angry red, her hands pulling from him like he's made of acid, her eyes closing in utter mortification. "What?"

She starts when his fingers trace her cheek, when they cup her chin, forcing her to look at him. And it's like the ambulance all over again - eyes, open and unafraid. Hands, gentle, soft. His shoulders seem relaxed and his face has lost the hardness she'd woken up to, all of it amounting to what? What is it she's anticipating - hoping for? How does it go from on edge to comfortable to hate to need and back again? Why is it that they can never speak, never _say_ what they're thinking?

He leans in close, so close that his nose is brushing hers, so close that she can feel his breath fanning across her face, and she fights against instinct, against the desire to close her eyes and just give in. All those reasons she'd thought up, convinced herself of, flagged in her head every time he's gotten too close - she forgets them. She wouldn't have to worry about this if he didn't _keep getting_ too close. Obviously, something's drawing him in. Obviously, there's something he wants. And as much as she'd like to tell herself that she could say no, that this is wrong and she's going to stop whatever it is he might do - she cant. She's knocked men on their asses, she's broken hearts, she's always held her own and taken care of herself, there's never been anyone that's made her feel weak. Nobody but him. And maybe that's why the thought of him feeling something -_anything-_ like what she does when he's this close, when he's miles away, when he's across the room or in his office, down the hall from hers - it scares her to death. It scares her to think that all the fire and the explosions, the words that cut like knives, the silence that bursts her eardrums, the shouts that make her numb and alive and _happy_, as fucked as it may be, could all amount to something bigger - something she's never had. Something _real_.

"Steve. ."

And maybe she hadn't meant to sound so breathless, so out of her mind, but it's how she's feeling when he slides between her legs, when it's his arms snaking around her waist, careful of her injuries, showing more attentiveness than she's ever seen from him to anyone. His nose is grazing down her cheek and his chest is pressing into hers, like he cant get close enough, like she's going to disappear out from under him. He's hugging her and she can feel his heart beating and his chest rising and falling and she lets her hands ease up his neck and into his hair, lets her fingers curl around soft brown. She doesn't know how long they sit there, quiet and breathing and just _touching_, but she could feel it when he shifted, she could see the determination in the set of his jaw, feel the way his shoulders pulled back, coiling, getting ready to do something he was unsure of. And when he leaned in, his lips hovering so _unbelievably_ close to hers, her mind and her body and everything else suddenly on fire, she doesn't really feel like waiting anymore. She holds back on all the vigor she feels pooling just below a shaky sort of control she's struggling to maintain, careful not to blow whatever this is, careful not to bring them both out of this strange little haze, and when she presses her lips to his, when she feels him sigh against her mouth, it's exactly the way she thought it would be. The kiss isn't intense or filled with passion or something you'd read about in a book - it's just a kiss. Just a soft, tentative peck and it shouldn't have sent her reeling the way it did. Shouldn't have set her heart pounding and her mind melting and every nerve ending from toe to chest crackling and pumping until she was positive she'd die if he didn't get away from her - let her breathe. But his hands lift to her face and he's brushing the hair away, tucking it behind her ears, running calloused fingers down to her neck. He pulls her head forward and she parts her lips, her mind imagining all the wonderful ways in which this could go, she can taste salt and sweet and so many other unnamable things on his bottom lip, can taste it all while running her teeth over it and readying herself to push this thing just a little further, to . .-

"_Shit_."

She's wondering what the hell he's talking about until the sound finally breaks through her imagination and she can feel his phone vibrating in his pocket. Watching him reach in, pull out that _stupid_ device and put it to his ear. . . - it brings everything back into perspective. It brings about the _oh my god what did we just do_ and questions and lack of answers as to what to do next. He's mumbling into the phone and she knows it's Danny, he doesn't roll his eyes that often for anyone else, and she catches clipped bits about a safe house, about Rachel and Grace, something about what Chin found and other little things that set her mind to work, trying to figure out what they've been dealing with. Assholes. The fact that they haven't told her about a new case voids all those sweet little gestures from her partners and she's stubbornly back to believing that she'd be happier giving out tickets and clocking speeds for a living. Right. . .

Waiting for him to get off the phone is like waiting for the results of a test you didn't really study for, it's despicably unnerving, and arguably more stressful than getting shot and spending the better part of a month in a hospital bed. Her priorities are so fucked.

"Danny's on scene, needs me to come sign off on some things. ."

The uncertainty in his voice bothers her. Not so much because she knows it's uncharacteristic for him, that she's making him this way, but because he's created quite the distance between them and she doesn't miss the way he avoids looking at her. There's something that looks a lot like panic blending with the ambiguity in his features and she catches the tick in his hand, the way one of his legs is stretched towards the door.

"You're just going to run?" she asks, and if it surprises him, he doesn't show it.

"This. . -" fingers motion between their bodies, defenses begin to rebuild, blues and greens melt into that familiar steely grey. "-it cant happen. . I - I don't know what I was - . . I've got to go. Call Danny if you need something."

_Danny, not me, because I'm the biggest chicken shit in history_. The thought gives her a bit of satisfaction as she watches him stuff his phone in his pocket and move to the front door. He stops, hand on the knob, eyes empty and forward, and she thinks for a minute he might say something else, something that's obviously eating at him. But he pulls the door open and closes it behind him, leaving her in a space that, only moments before, was thick and heavy and filled to the brim with all those unsaid things between them, for once able to air themselves out. Even if only for a few minutes. She doesn't dwell long, though, because a part of her already knew what was going to happen. Part of her has always recognized those pieces of him that are so much like something deep in her, something she hides and masks with wide verbosity and a mean right hook. It's an instability - an inability to love and socialize and give over parts of themselves like so many others do. It's guarded and fragile, it's frightened and unwilling to be put out in the open for someone to snatch and throw to the ground, to be stomped and trampled and left in the dirt. It's been hurt before, by someone special, someone important in their lives - hell, maybe more than once - and for all their determination, it feeds. It lives on the defensiveness and the distance, the lies and half-truths. It's something that is only willing to give just enough - enough to keep everyone satisfied, but far enough away so that they'll never make the same mistakes again. They'll never even be tempted to.

And she answers all her previous questions about their relationship in one sitting, because he's too much like her and she's too much like him for them to ever find a median. She's been hurt by so many, family and friends and boyfriends alike, and he's lost too much, _too many_, to ever risk himself again. He stays with Catherine because she's safe, because he doesn't really love her but she's completely devoted to him, and it makes for an easy situation. She accepts his distant, passive, half arguments that should probably be blow outs, and he gives her the passiveness to make up for the absolute _nothingness_ he feels about it all. He's as broken as she is and that's precisely why he runs from her, why she always runs from him, and she knows it'll always be this way. There will never be a point, if a near death experience went unscathed, that either of them will decide to give in. For all their strengths and brains and expertise - they are scared. Scared and weak in the ways of life outside of work and love outside of family, and she can accept that.

She stares at the flames licking up the sides of the barrel in her backyard, watches with a thoughtful detachment as they grow and roar and light the otherwise darkened space. She lifts the disgraceful piece of fabric up into the air, a sort of testament to how she's feeling, and chunks it into the fire. It's satisfying - watching it melt and curl into itself, the mission and the warehouse and everything that happened after that turning to ash along with that _stupid_, problem causing, black dress.

.

**a/n. So.. I have two other stories up, on hold, actually, thanks to my laptop that I've only just got working again - and can't honestly tell you when I'll have updates for them. My laptop crashed and took all my work with it, every partial chapter and outline I had for each story.. SO! I had this sitting around, eating at my brain, and decided to go ahead and post it. It's my first Hawaii 5-0 fic, obviously, and I'm still trying to figure out what I'm doing with this. The chapters are long, 1 and 2 are, anyway, and as far as a story line, the main idea circles around Kono and Steve, and their feelings for one another of course. Every chapter will be a different case, as the chapter title will give away, and will most likely be closed by the end of the chap. The only exception for that will be the Devero Case that will actually extend throughout the entire story. The other team members will play active roles and will be featured a good bit, but as I said before, this is Kono/Steve centric, so I'm not really delving into other ships or pairings, save maybe Danny, but I'm still not sure on that yet. Note! If you are a Lori fan, I pay her no favors in the next chapter, without outwardly dogging on her, so beware. lol. **

**This story is rated M for language, some violence and graphic scenes, and sexual content. I do not own Hawaii 5-0 or any of it's characters and/or original plots, I can only take credit for the events I create, and storyline I unfold. **

**Thank you for reading. I appreciate reviews more than you could imagine. :) **


	2. Case With the New Chick

**a/n. WOWW. First, let me just say THANK YOU for all the reviews and alerts and favorites! I was shocked to see how much attention this got, and pretty stoked. lol. :( I'm embarrassed that I took so long to update! I had this one mostly finished, just had some things to tie in. Let me go ahead and say, I clipped it towards the end. This bad boy hit 11,000 words and I had to stop. There wasn't enough to start a whole new chapter, and chapter 3 needs it's own space. Any questions about this one should be answered in the next chap, I know I mention the end at one point, and hopefully that will tie any loose ends. Sooo, here's chapter 2... enjoy! **

**.**

**Case Files**

**By: Watermelon . Drops**

**Chapter 2:**

**The Case With the New Chick. . .**

In a span of two months, Kono has successfully managed to rid herself of anything McGarrett related. Everything outside of the actual person, of course. He's her boss, so a few words, a few glances, a few confirmative nods; it's all necessary. But he hasn't asked her anything personal during those long, _long_, eight weeks, and she hasn't pushed any boundaries or brought up anything even _remotely_ close to what happened between them in her kitchen. How embarrassing; to think that she had actually initiated the whole ordeal. . .it makes her skin crawl.

"Well," Danny drawls casually, letting himself into her office. "Judging by Mr. Lehawa's nose, it's safe to say you're on the road to recovery, yeah?"

She suppressed the urge to wince at the thought of the poor man now awaiting HPD in their interrogation room. There really had been no need to hit _so_ hard. . "He was gonna run," she shrugs, doesn't look at him. "I just saved your ass from having to chase him. You should be thanking me."

"Riiight," and he's moved to sit across from her, arms folded. "So you wanna spill it?"

She glances up then, shakes her head a little. "I don't know -"

"- yes you do," he butts in, eyes rolling. "You and the Hulk have barely spoken since you came back from leave. You may think that Chin and I are blind, but we're not, and myself especially, given my close quarters with the lovely Commander, have been on the receiving end of _his_ frustrated outbursts. Only difference being, I'm a little faster than Mr. Lehawa, and am a little more able when it comes to dodging." He scales back in the chair, raises a brow at her guilty expression. "Just tell me what's going on, I _promise_, I wont say a word to anyone. Especially Grumpy."

She hesitates, because she hadn't planned on letting anyone in on her little Commander _issues_, but then keeping it all to herself has proved to be less than healthy, for both her _and_ those around her. She suddenly feels _really_ bad for Mr. Lehawa.

"Look," and she's still unsure, eyes glancing to the door to her office, just to make sure he's still in his, hands a little shaky with the knowledge that, yes, she's about to spill her secret beans to _Danny_ of all people. "It's not really _that _interesting," she deflects, finding something _very_ interesting in her fingers on the desk. "It's just that… well, you remember how he took me home from the hospital?"

He nods. "Oh yeah! That was strange," he hums, relaxing a bit, raising his hands up and above his head, stretching. "Considering the only time he ever showed was when you were asleep. Creepy, right?"

Her eyes widen a little, that tiny, horrible, _evil_ little part of her that likes dresses and make up lurching at the thought of him secretly coming to see her. She feels like face palming. Why is that attractive? Danny's right, she should find it creepy and annoying, but instead, some of her anger dissipates for just a moment, thoughts of them in the ambulance and in her kitchen and -

"How chicken shit is that?" Danny continues on, ignoring her internal battles. "The guy sits around blaming himself for weeks, and cant even rack up enough decency to talk to you. Sometimes I wonder about our Awe-Inspiring Commander."

She narrows her eyes at the little man, face palming _him_ suddenly seeming like a good idea. ._great_ idea. . .

"Guys," Chin interrupts from the door, an uncharacteristic frown marring his usual chipper features. "Boss wants us in his office. . ."

Kono's stomach flips, her chest tightening to _very_ uncomfortable proportions. "Is it mandatory?"

Chin sighs. "Unfortunately, yes, it is."

Danny shrugs at her inquisitive look, silently stressing over what McGarrett could _possibly_ have lined up for them so soon after this last bust. And then, of course, there were the continuous lingering issues between he and Kono, which Danny had failed, once again, to obtain answers to. Whatever. He needs some Advil.

"Yes, almighty one -"

Danny's voice is halted (an accomplishment that speaks volumes) by a figure standing idle in McGarrett's office, hands behind her back, blonde hair pulled into a tight pony tail atop her head. He stares, along with the other two, as she turns to face them, offers a hesitant smile.

"Hi, team," her sweet voice coos, sickeningly so, and the three frozen 5-0 members cannot find words. "My name is Lori."

Steve shifts uncomfortably behind his desk, reading their expressions with little effort. He clears his throat, attempts to look indifferent with the way his hands clamp behind his back and his neck straightens, face a flawed mask of certainty.

"Well, _Lori_," Danny says with a sarcastic sort of ease, "My name is Danny." He pauses, glances at Steve. "Can I ask what brings you to our headquarters?"

"Of course," she says with one of those voices that makes you cringe, like you're in therapy, like she's gauging everything you say. "The Governor has asked me to sit in on your newest case, a Mr. James Gretzkin, whose file I've brought with me today. I've been with the F.B.I. for five years, and I specialize with profiling, something that's going to be useful to catch this guy, who as of last week, has made Hawaii his preferred safe haven."

"Wonderful," Danny says, sour. When the others remain silent, he huffs. "Okay, so, let me get this straight… I mean, I get that you're a good. . '_profiler_', but we all have experience with this sort of thing. We don't need help with a one man case. Especially not help from the F.B.I. . ." he pauses, raises a speculative brow. "Unless there's something you're not sharing, which is rude, by the way -"

"- the Governor is just looking out for the 5-0 team," Lori says calmly, unfolding her arms. "Recent events, complications," she winces upon seeing the wide eyes, defensive stances. " - well, he's worried about the team's well being. So when I came into town, following Gretzkin, he asked -"

"- asked you to baby sit us?"

Steve frowns at Danny, at his _horribly_ loud mouth. "She's not babysitting anyone, Danny."

"I don't know, Steve," Chin says slowly, uncomfortable with the tension and awkwardness between the team members. They used to talk to each other. It used to be a lot easier. "I'm not one to ride the waves, but Danny has a point. We've been working cases on our own for a long time now, for the Governor to randomly toss a new person into the mix. . .it's a bit suspicious."

Lori shifts, lets out a loud breath. "He's concerned -"

"- You've mentioned that," Danny says, a little irritably. "But what you've failed to mention, is _what_ he's concerned about. Our well being? Bull. What's got his panties jumbled all of a sudden?"

Lori's tight-lipped silence stretches for a good five minutes before anyone dared to break it, and of course, Danny has no quells about being the one to do so.

Kono rolls her eyes as he steps forward.

"Fine, fine," he says, hands up, head tilted down a bit, trying to appear a little less disgruntled. "I suppose you'll need time to do your thing with. .- with Commander over here, so we can take a few days, try to figure this all out."

Lori sighs, glances at Steve. "Actually, we've been instructed to get on this as soon as possible. . .Steve and I took care of all the paperwork and schedules and such last week, we're all good to go, when you're ready, of course."

It's in the way she says Steve's name - makes Kono want to vomit. Or maybe it's the girly, _stupid_ way that she keeps glancing at him, like she's double checking, making sure he approves of all those unfortunate things that are falling out of her mouth. She doesn't know. Just knows that this room is suddenly like a thousand times smaller than it was a few minutes ago, and if she has to watch Steve try to _not_ look at the blonde again, she may actually drop her lunch on his office floor. Danny seems to agree with her, if the crinkling of his nose and puffiness of his mouth have anything to say about it. Fortunately for her, Danny is allowed to let the more disastrous of his thoughts to spill over without worrying about consequences, allowing her the satisfaction of sitting and watching, rather than saying and doing.

"Wait.. -" and Danny actually seems a little offended when he turns attention to Steve. "You.. - you _knew_ about this? You knew and didn't say anything?"

Kono blanches a bit because, damn, she hadn't even been paying attention to that part of the conversation, as warped around the new girl as she'd been. But, yeah, actually, that is pretty shitty of him, considering the tension in the office as of late, and she finds that she's as annoyed as Danny, and apparently so is Chin.

"I thought we'd agreed to no secrets?" her cousin is asking, moving to Danny's side. "I thought this was a team?"

"We _are_ a team," he's breathing out slowly, letting his hands rest against his desk. He seems so tired, and yet she cant really find it in her to feel sorry for him right now. "But what the Governor decides is far beyond my reach, you all know that. He asked that I tell you when it was finalized, that we not make it into a huge deal until the schematics were worked out, and that's exactly what I did."

Danny's frown deepens. "So his word is law _now_? After all the shootouts and explosions and near deaths and injuries and _insane _situations, all things we've been and pushed through _together_ - you listen to him _now_? About something as drastic as this?"

"In a way, Danny, you're correct," Lori involves herself quietly, lookin' a bit nervous. "I will be watching over you, which means I'll be watching over Commander McGarrett. He'd planned to tell you last week, upon leaving the Governor's office, no less, but I reminded him of the arrangement, and what it entailed."

"So you're a snitch?"

Honestly, she hadn't meant for it to roll over. She'd been thinking it, a stupid, personal jab at the woman, and it'd truthfully escaped with a will of it's own. She stood strong under the surprised stares, though, and raised her chin a little. "For the Governor, I mean."

She was as surprised with herself as the rest of them looked, and wanted to take it all back as quickly as it'd escaped - _still_ not her fault - but Lori was nodding her head slowly, and seemed as if she were getting ready to answer, so Kono let it brew, ignored the glare from her boss with an ease that shouldn't be legal, considering what it did to him and his sanity.

"In ways, yes," the woman seemed to choke around the words a bit, and no, Kono _was not_ laughing inside at the horribly unattractive face she was making. "But in others I will be your teammate, as well. I'll be working closely with all four of you, and it doesn't have to be uncomfortable. There's no need for us to be on awkward terms."

Kono decides very quickly, upon seeing McGarrett's small smile, that the discomfort she's feeling towards the woman has absolutely nothing to do with the team dynamic, and everything to do with the fact that he's looking at Lori a lot like she imagined he'd look at her, you know, if they didn't have all their freaky issues. And it's just not acceptable when the woman throws him a small, shy glance and smiles right back at him. So, what? They're best friends now? A week and they're all comfy-cozy, working late together and taking lifts home? It pisses her off more than it should because, really, she has no claim. She's got nothing more than a small kiss, shared after a very frightening, stressful experience for the both of them that brought about questions there are no answers to. She's got complicated - this chick's got simplicity. What chance would she have if she decided that McGarrett could, under no circumstances, sleep with this woman? If she steeled her resolve despite what's happened between she and her _Boss_, of all people, and made damn sure that no woman ever touched him again, other than herself?

She frowns at the unlikely notion and looks away from curious eyes.

"Right. Of course not."

Danny seems to deflate along with Kono as the situation comes to a slow broil, leaving Chin to fend for himself.

"I still think you should have told us," he's saying as he moves towards the door. "We've all broken rules for you, you for us, and this shouldn't have been any different. Not when it affects us as directly as this."

Kono is surprised at Chin's soft tongued outburst, and barely notices Danny slipping out of the room after he says one last piece (_always the last word_) and doesn't move when Lori makes to leave, closing the door behind her. She's unsure of how long she stands there, eyes on the floor, stress levels through the roof, an uncomfortable sense of trepidation weaving up her spine. Just knows that when she looks up, Steve is sitting down at his desk, staring straight ahead, and it makes her stomach curl. She knows that look, knows that he's probably beating himself up for keeping this lady from them, knows that he's probably wondering what the hell she's still doing in his office. She cant really figure it out, either. It should have been her storming out first; it's how she felt. Angry, annoyed… kinda betrayed. Not so much because of the new team member - more for reasons she's not allowed to mention, and finds that, despite the mortification that still lingers from their last encounter alone in a room together, she cant leave. Nothing that's happened this morning is settling in her stomach, nothing about the tension between all of them is right, no matter the stress levels. They've never been as distant as they are now - any of them, not just she and Steve. Chin is quiet at work, reserved, settling for the least amount of contact with them as possible, and she's sure it's because he cant solve whatever problem it is that's arisen between them. It annoys him - not being able to help. Danny's tolerance for McGarrett's stunts has just about disappeared, though she thinks it's more out of concern than anything else, given the frightful way in which her Boss has been throwing himself around recently. And the Boss man himself? - cranky, irritable, reckless and hostile. It's a combination of meltdowns between four people and she's not positive that they would recover if they finally just blew it all out. And then - in a moment of pure, unadulterated weakness, she thinks that, maybe, all of this is a direct result of what she helped to unearth. Whatever it was that had been lingering below a well constructed surface, something sitting right there between them, untouched, ignored - maybe they had ruined everything when they let it breathe a little, that day in her kitchen. Maybe they had screwed everything up - thinking they could have a moment like they'd shared that day.

And maybe he'd realized that when his phone rang, and tried to salvage what was left of their everyday by walking away. Duh. She'd already thought of that, and reasoning now didn't seem to help the hurt that still reared up to sting her every now and then, reminding her that, sure, he may want her to some extent, but that they're both too screwed up to ever have what they _really_ want. She turns eyes to him, still sitting idle in his chair, and sighs. If this is going to work - if 5-0 is going to survive the arrival of Miss Prissy-Pants, something's gonna have to give. _She's _gonna have to suck it up and push forward if she ever wants to get over what's happened. She understands that.. Honestly. It's just a little harder to retract whatever she'd admitted that day, whatever had scared him away, than she'd thought. Watching him wait for her to say something is like frying under the lamp in the interrogation room - worse, even, because she knows he'll never go first. He'd let this silence stretch and swell until it was suffocating them both, before he'd break whatever he's resolved himself to. The thought annoys her to no end, and the realization sort of hurts, considering everything she's had to come to terms with over the last few weeks.

One being that she cares for him more than she probably should, more than any rookie should care for their boss, more than any friend should care for another. It makes her head hurt, admitting it to herself.

"We need to come together," she says slowly, quietly. "If we're gonna work as a team, if we're ever gonna be like we were before.. - we have to come together in this and show Danny and Chin that everything's fine."

He looks up at her, then, and his eyes are the same hurtful shade of grey. "How?" and she thinks he sounds a lot like he's choking. "How are we supposed to do that when we can barely function in the same room together?"

It startles her; that blunt-force honesty. "If you and I cant come to a real median, then we need to fake it. At least for the city's sake. For Chin and Danny's."

He snorts and shakes his head, looking away from her, out the window. "They're not stupid, Kono. And our acting isn't _that_ good."

"So what do you suggest then, _Boss_?"

The silence swells again, and she thinks he may leave it that way, until he stands and turns to her, steeled for whatever he's about to say. To admit that she was a little scared would be the end of her, so she settles with nervous. Because he had that look - like he did in her kitchen; determined, unafraid, even if only for that moment.

"Fine, we'll do it your way, and we'll try and play nice and pretend that everything's alright.." he pauses and shifts, head shaking in a way she knows relates to discomfort. ".. even though we both know it's not."

"What would you propose, then?" she sounds a lot braver than she feels, and she's kind of hoping he wont answer her, despite her growing curiosity on the subject, now that he's admitted a little of how he feels. "What else can we do without breaking this team up? We're good together, Steve. We work well together and we always get things done. We save lives and we help people… isn't that why 5-0 was created? What good would it do for us to split it up?"

He shrugs against the weight of what she's implying, because he doesn't trust himself to speak. He doesn't want them to disband, doesn't want to lose the friends he's gained - he doesn't want to lose _her_, no matter the havoc the two of them have wreaked upon what was once a solid group. He has no illusions as to what's causing all this tension, he just doesn't know how to take it back. How to fix it.

"It wouldn't do anything," he concedes, nodding slightly. "I know that. And that's why we're gonna suck up wha - … whatever's going on and do what needs to be done."

During the moments that they stand across from one another, silence like a blanket over them, suffocating, stifling - she tries to imagine what that will entail. What the arrival of this new member and this new 'agreement' will mean for them as a pair, rather than a team. Drive a stake further between them? Create more tension? She assumes as much, considering the way he was looking at Lori earlier, the way she was looking back. The thought alone is enough to pull her from the weird stand off, and she's walking out the door without another word, closing it softly behind her - a testament to the self control she'll have to maintain, now that they're 'speaking' again.

She slams _her_ office door, 'cause there are no rules against that.

.

In the weeks that followed Lori's arrival, few things had panned out the way Kono originally planned. She'd expected a fairly simple case, maybe a little undercover, a little digging, a little shooting, chasing - the usual. What she hadn't anticipated was the effect Lori and Steve's newfound partnership would have on her. She'd had an idea, sure, given the enormous amount of jealousy that had sat on her face, promptly following the other woman's arrival, but this was different. The fake smiles and the false laughter and the easiness that just wasn't there… it was fast becoming impossible to keep up. Feed that to the monster that was her ever-consuming fixation on finishing whatever she's doing, and you'll find her, hair mussed and piled atop her head, ugly black bags under droopy eyes, staring at a picture on the smart desk. The man is fairly attractive, has that look - the one that fools you so easily, with such little effort. She knows he's a charmer, knows he's gotten over on even the smartest of women; his only target. He likes them rich, he likes them beautiful, and more than anything, he likes a challenge. Submissive behavior and the desire to please drives him away, as does a woman who shows the least bit of interest in him. His victims are usually married or engaged, already committed to someone else, to their life with that person. His ultimate goal is to change their minds, to make them want him, rather than the men they're with. The fact that the women actually fall for it doesn't surprise her - not like it does Lori. The agent believes that any self respecting woman would see through his act, would be able to decipher genuine interest through such blaringly false pretenses.

Kono knows better.

The man is precise; looks to clothes to what he drives. He has money, stays in the nicest hotels or resorts, is always immaculate with timing and entrance. He draws their attention without ever saying a word, and it's always casual - the way he approaches them. Bumps into the them on his way to the restroom, drops his credit card while in front of them in line, leaves something behind before he makes his exit, knowing they'll see and follow to return the small item. It's the first conversation that is most important to him. He judges everything; accent, clothes style, hair and eye color, mannerisms. He looks for a loud personality, someone spoiled and used to getting what they want. Though someone with his genuine looks would usually never stand a chance with these high-class or successful women, it's the way he dotes and attends to them that pulls them in, even during those first five minutes. He compliments, asks questions, wants to know everything about her, and she feeds on the attention. She sees him as someone that's well off, confident in himself and his dealings, someone that doesn't need her, not like the men she's used to, and that above all else peaks her interest. He has his own money, so why would he care about hers? And that is his most important lie. Because in the end, when he's successfully wooed her away from her husband or fiancé, even being patient enough to wait for the divorce to finalize - the money is all he's after and, unfortunately, he usually gets it. Granted there have been times, once or twice, when something has kept him from it; sudden prenup, complications with the divorce, or even a change of heart - still, he usually managed to take something from them and, in a few cases, it was the life of his target. Hence his high profile.

"You smell."

She glances up at Danny and frowns, ignores the coffee he places on the edge of the large screen.

His sigh is tired; bland. "I take it Lori is still pushing for the drugs or abuse?"

"There has been _no_ evidence to say as much, yet she insists that there's no way they would go for him otherwise." She stands, stretches, glares at the man's picture. "How could she honestly believe that this man, who dates each woman for _months_, in some cases over a year, is drugging them or beating them into submission for such long periods of time?"

Danny shrugs, folds his arms. "Maybe she's damaged goods."

Kono stops mid-step, interest pulled from her previously hopeful exit. "What do you mean?"

"Well, sometimes when an officer or agent's experienced something, been through a situation similar to one they're assessing, they can't see passed the outcome or circumstances of what happened to them." He moves around the smart desk, points at the large screen, the rows of women's photos pictured side by side. "All of these women are successful, sometimes almost unattainable by men - perhaps our sweet little agent-lady has some personal issues with this guy… or someone similar."

The idea isn't as farfetched as Kono would have thought, coming from Danny. She'd half expected a boob joke, or something of the like. "You really think she'd let something cloud her judgment like that?" She leans against the wall, thoughtful. "She's been pretty professional since she got here."

"Never know," and his usual grin is a frown as he looks over her shoulder, nods, motioning behind her. "She doesn't seem to be against inter-office romance."

Though a part of her is screaming not to look, to ignore his clouded eyes and take whatever he's gesturing at for what it should be - _nothing_ - she turns slowly, only her upper body, refusing to fully commit, and decides upon sight that she should have listened to herself. Lori is there, across the hall, skirt-clad ass sat atop Steve's desk with all the feminism of a kitty cat. She chokes down the puke and makes herself glance at Steve, makes herself see the way he's smiling at the other woman, the way his hand is on her bare thigh, the way she's subtly scooting closer to him as the seconds tick by. Despite her aggressive demands that she _not_ care, she can feel her stomach flipping, her chest tightening, and when she looks back at Danny, she knows she's answered what he's wanted to know since she returned from leave.

"What happened when he took you home?"

She blinks at him, but doesn't deny anything. What's the point? She's made it all very obvious with the way her chest is kind of heaving, and her hands are sort of shaking… "We kissed," she admits quietly, glancing back to the scene unfolding inside her Boss's office. "It wasn't as much of a surprise as I would have thought. Not with how tense we'd been with each other. It's always been there, I guess, we just ignored it."

"Let me guess," he mumbles, eyes downcast. "He ran?"

"Like a little girl," and she's not smiling at the joke behind truth, can only scowl at the memory, still so raw and new. "We decided to call it a truce when Lori came into the picture, play nice for everyone's benefit." Her shrug is halfhearted. "It's been working out, I guess."

Danny sighs something tired, something almost exasperated, and she's surprised when he moves to stand directly in front of her, more serious than she's seen him in a while. His eyes are focused on Steve and Lori, mind obviously whirling around something he's unsure about, something he doesn't know if he should say. It's almost funny, considering how unethical the lot of them can be at times, but she lets him have it, doesn't say a word as he struggles to find what it is he wants to get out, or maybe a _way_ to get it out.

"Our uppers would blow every blood vessel in their bald little foreheads if they found out he was dating his rookie, we all know that, _he _knows that." His arms fold over his chest and he finally looks at her, finally sees the confliction dancing through the gathered lines of her brow, the uncharacteristic sadness in her eyes, and he seems to fold in a little. "But he would be fine, they would look passed it for him because he's a good cop, a good detective, good Commander. He cares too much and does more than is necessary. He goes above and beyond because he doesn't know how to settle, he's never learned, always pushing for something bigger, something more. He's -"

" - it's all he cares about, I know," she interrupts, pushing from the wall, walking away from him. "You don't have to tell me about how important 5-0 is to him or how bad it would look if anyone ever found out." She glares again at James Gretzkin on the smart desk. "I haven't told anyone, and I wont."

Danny's frown remains when he forces her around to look at him, face darker than usual, hands firmer than they've ever been with her. "You think he's worried about his job?" and he seems truly miffed. "If you knew anything about him, which I know you do, through all that denial you're working with, you'd know that, if anything, Steve's knack for self preservation is nothing if not stunted. The man doesn't know _how_ to take care of himself." There's something regretful in his eyes when he pulls away, takes a step back. "His career would be fine - but you? Every promotion you'd get, every award or medal, it'd be seen as a token of appreciation for sleeping with your boss. It wouldn't be because you work hard or because they respect you as a female officer, a member of 5-0 - it'd be because you're Steve McGarrett's girlfriend and everyone knows how that works in this field."

Although she's promised herself that throughout this whole ordeal, she'd leave the blame upon Steve, let him take it all because she doesn't want to face the reality that she's equally as involved - she finds herself sinking. "I didn't mean for this to happen," she pushes through clenched teeth, despising how little she sounds. "It wasn't supposed to. But his face in the ambulance… when he showed up in my hospital room.. -"

"- he doesn't know how to handle this correctly," Danny concedes, a little lighter. "He doesn't want to screw up your career, doesn't want to mess up your partnership, either. He doesn't want to cause problems with Chin, doesn't want to tamper with the team dynamic. He's probably got a novel written out in his head filled with every reason why he shouldn't pursue… _whatever_ it is he's got goin' on towards you, but that doesn't mean he can make it go away. It's just not that easy."

Kono smiles a little, glances up at him through lashes. "Alright then, Dr. Phil, how much do I owe ya?"

"Of course!" and his arms immediately begin to flail. "I try to help and what do I get? A _joke_ at my expense, as usual. Well fine then, Dane Cook, you can handle this on your own."

She's laughing by the time he gets to the door, barely gets the, "I was just kidding!" out through the sharp breaths between giggles. But he's stomping down the hall, hair bouncing and chest puffing, ignoring her weak protests for him to come back. Despite the weight of the conversation, she feels a bit better, having witnessed someone else's reaction to the situation. After hearing someone else's interpretation. Though nothing's changed, and it's likely not to any time soon, it feels different, lighter, somehow. Perhaps Danny's strange insight had shed a light on something for her, like maybe the horrid realization that she'd misread McGarrett's hesitance, that she'd misread her own. And yet, through the sudden reprieve, when she turns and sees Lori hugging him, sees him hugging her back, it isn't sadness that returns, only a familiar irritation and bitterness that she can always relate to her stupid boss. It's a bit freeing, the way she finally just lets it go when she witnesses the woman place a chaste kiss to his lips, when he smiles at the small show of affection. It isn't easy, not by any means, but then a situation such as this has few options to toy with, and none of which she'd choose for herself or anyone else. So she shuts off the lights and powers down the smart screens, moves down the hall with a determination that surprises even her, and ignores the way she can feel him watching her until front doors close behind her.

.

"You've done, what? Two or three undercover projects in your career?" she's demanding, glaring at the woman with all the distain she's allowed to surface over the last twenty four hours. "I've got more experience in a month than you've had your whole life, _I_ should be the one to do it. You don't understand him, not like you say you do, and he'd sense it if you hesitated even once."

Lori's irritated scowl is telling - she's pushing her buttons.

"It doesn't matter how much experience you have over me, I'm leading this case, and I say _I'm_ going in. Please don't forget about who sent me here. The Governor will back whatever I think is best."

Danny taps his foot somewhere off in a corner, annoyed at the early morning hour. "Kono's right, Lori, you wont know what to do if you get caught in a situation."

"That's why Steve is going with me."

Kono, Chin and Danny gape at her, the latter two moving to stand nearer the two bickering women when she makes no move to confirm that she was kidding.

"Taking Steve in there is a huge risk," Chin says slowly, eyeballing her with all the uncertainty he suddenly feels towards her. "Someone could spot him, recognize him, tag him as an officer. He's good with undercover work, but not in a room full of locals. He's not exactly low-profile, especially in the criminal circuit. Taking him with you would be a sure way to blow this thing up."

Lori shakes her head quickly, dismissing his doubt with a small smile. "I don't need him to do anything other than stand around and be there if I need help. I'll be mingling and doing all the talking."

"Again," Danny insists, following her when she starts for the door. "Taking him in there is a sure way to screw this up. We need fresh faces." He pauses, glances at Kono. "In fact, if both you _and_ Kono went, we'd be certain to get his attention, whether it be through you or her - at least we'd have it."

"We don't need three of us in there -"

"- if I went," Kono butts in, suppressing the urge to growl, "Steve wouldn't have to go, therein removing the threat of us being made."

"This man is slick, more so than I think you comprehend," Lori grumbles, folding her arms. "He ropes you in and you only get out when he says you can. I don't think you're prepared to handle him if he takes an interest in you."

"And you are?"

Lori's eyes snap to Kono a little to quickly, the question swimming openly in the blonde woman's eyes. "I've been tracking him for a long time."

"That doesn't mean you _know_ him," Danny tries to reason, watching her stare at Kono. He tries not to grin, knowing they've successfully shaken the normally at ease agent. "You've never met him in person, never actually _watched_ him work. You know what you've gathered, but not what he's really about. His motives could be about anything, it's a matter of catching him in the act, making damn sure we have everything we need to put him away. This isn't some kind of competition."

Kono doesn't turn away from the small stand off when the glass door pushes open and Steve walks in, his tension palpable. "Kono will go in to the benefit solo, we'll watch from afar and wait for her signal. If everything works out how I'm hoping, Kono can pull him out, lead him to us, rather than us having to storm in and hope we catch him at the right time."

Lori visibly blanches, shakes her head. "Steve, _I_ am running this, I thought we discussed this last night? We agreed that -"

"We agreed that we'd do what's best, and this is what's best. Kono has more experience and will be able to deal with him better should he actually approach her."

Danny snorts. "Amen, brother."

Steve glares a little, but turns attention to Kono. It's uncomfortable, him being so close, eyes _so_ focused on her - just her. "You're objective is to make him see you without seeing him, pull as much attention to yourself as possible without being obvious. We need him to come to us, make him follow you. It wont be easy, but I'm pretty sure, if you play it right, you can lead him."

Kono nods under his heavy stare, trying _really_ hard to ignore the little part of her that lurches at the genuine conversation he's attempting, though the subject remains completely work related. "I've got my ways," she agrees, grinning. "I'll get him to follow me, one way or the other."

Steve smiles, a _real_ smile, and she returns it before she can think better of it. When he turns around to address the rest of the group, she _does_ think better of it, and hates herself because, _hello_, he was all kissy-face with Blondie Mc_Loser _not even eight hours before this meeting, and here she is _smiling_ at him of all things. Again, she has few reasons to be angry, other than her own quells with she and Steve's… whatever it is - but it flares, anyway, souring her already shitty mood. Apparently Lori is feeling the same way, if her theatrical walk over to that chair had anything to say for it, and she's pouting in a way Kono's never seen on an adult. She fights the mischievous grin that threatens her current resolve.

"There's a small shop across the street from the benefit hall, the owner's agreed to let us camp there while Kono's inside. I need everyone to be there at around three tomorrow to help set up - it's just us on this one, alerting P.D. is too risky. This guy has a lot of connections and we don't wanna tip him off." Steve pauses, glances down at the papers in his hand. "Since we don't have P.D., we don't have their resources, so my sister will be helping you get ready, Kono. You'll need to meet her at my house in the morning, figure out what to do about a dress."

Kono realizes that he wasn't finished talking, that he's _still_ talking, giving out instructions and probably a pep talk - but he lost her at '_my house_', meaning _his house_, meaning she's gonna have to spend her day inside the very last place she ever wanted to step foot in, given recent events - the chaos that ensues behind a carefully calm demeanor is epic, and she feels a bit nauseous. She blinks against her small moment of anxiety and realizes she and Danny and Steve are all that's left in the room - she clears her throat, stuffs hands inside her pockets, appears collected.

"You got a game plan for tomorrow?" Steve asks casually, leaning against the doorframe. Danny turns eyes to her from the papers he snatched from the Boss, grins a little.

"I've been going over his file all week and I think I've pinpointed what he looks for, all the details," she answers certainly, letting her ass fall to the desk behind her. "I'll have to appear confident, completely in control. The conversation will have to be started by him, if it's going to be taken any further than that, he'll only approach me if he's interested, and if I approach him, it'll push him away." She shrugs, thoughtful. "I guess I'll just need to make myself noticeable. Flirt, strike up loud conversation with other men." Her brow raises a little. "I'll need a wedding band."

Steve's head tilts a little, brows gathering. "Why a ring?"

"His targets are usually married or engaged," Danny pipes in, turning and powering up the smart desk, pulling up a handful of the target's photos. "Kono did some digging, and almost every one of them had boyfriends or something more committed. A few of them even lived with the guys."

"It's his thing," she concedes, moving to stand by Danny. "He likes the challenge, wants her to _choose_ him, rather than him forcing her into anything or just taking her money."

Steve nods, lets out a slow breath. It's unnerving when she turns and he's still looking at her, grey eyes calculating, a little uncertain. "Just be careful," he says quietly. "Be certain of where you're going if he follows you, and make sure we know where you are at all times."

"So I'm wearing a wire?"

"It'll be discreet," he assures, straitening. "Even if he gets a chance to look, he wont find it."

She nods, and follows both men out the door, the thought of home a welcome notion - compared to the thought of being in _his_ for the entirety of tomorrow.

.

Despite a very successful put on she's been working for most of her life, there are many things Kono is self conscious of. There are times, when she glances at the mirror, she thinks maybe she's too thin. There are others, when she's shoveled an enormous amount of food down her throat, she wonders if she's getting fat. Her appearance is the least of her worries though, forgetting her sometimes-frizzy hair, her long-ish fingers, the way her collar bones seem to protrude a little too far - because her personality and mannerisms give her enough to fret over, without adding all things physical. Physicality can be overlooked for a beautiful personality and vice versa, always depending on the person doing the accepting. Still, there have been moments she's feared her inescapable bluntness, the way her lip seems to curve when she's trying to pretend a joke was funny, the way her eyes roam, glossing over, when she's disinterested in whatever's being discussed, will leave her alone and brooding her entire life. The glossy-eyed disinterest is her worst attribute, it seems, when you take her _horribly_ short attention span into consideration - and everyone usually does. Not immediately, of course, but only after she's offended or annoyed them into a frustrated escape. The most annoying part of it all, though, is the knowledge that, sure, she could sit through an entire '_civilized_' conversation and never hear a word, never give a crud about what's going on with her friends or family or answer her phone when people call to chat - but you stick a con in front of her, a fugitive on the run, a case with a file that could sit flat on the floor and reach her thigh… she'll be gleefully enthralled for days, weeks, _months_ on end. All these things suck pretty hard, and yes, she realizes that her list only continues to grow with the way her mind consistently warps itself around the worst possible things and outcomes and decisions of every stupid thing that pops into her stupid head - but overlooking said shortcomings, though difficult because she's already let them weasel their way into her conscious thought, there are two that stand out above all else.

One - her temper. That damnable fuse that is forever being lit and blown up in her face… there are few good things to be said for it. Though helpful in a jam, it does nothing for her personal life, or lack thereof. - which brings about number two.

Two - the most absolute of her self-decided faults - her complete and total inability to face what's right in front of her. Speaking in terms of relationships, of course. Point a gun in her face? -she's shoving it away and landing a right hook. Toss her off a cliff? -she's latching on and climbing her way back to the top without a hint of help. Touch her in any way that may _possibly_ resemble a romantic advance? -she's breathing hard and sweating and stuttering and crawling away to lick her ever wounded pride.

It's difficult to pinpoint when she became this self-depreciating, horribly anxious version of herself, but she'll put her money on sometime after she joined the oh-so-righteous McGarrett Clan. Though still confident in her professional abilities - he's taken whatever sense of sexuality or romance she'd had at some point and squished it under those stupid boots of his.

The point to all of this?

James Gretzkin.

Walking into this, she was supposed to be confident, even cocky, and show absolutely no quells as to how bad-ass she thinks she is. She's a friggin' CEO for Chrissakes! _In theory_, he traitorous mind offers, playing a hand in the third or fourth glass of scotch she's downed in the past fifteen minutes, much stronger than cocktails, she's learning. Walking into this, she was supposed to forget all the stupid crap that's been going on and remember that she's a woman, a strong woman, and she can do just about anything she sets her mind to. She needs no man to get the things she wants, has always done things for herself, never needed anyone, really. She's independent and smart and witty. She's a lot of things, but right now, she's just not feelin' it. Why? you might wonder. But it's all fairly simple. She's let some arrogant, undeserving Commander get inside her head, and it's right now - not yesterday, not the last week, not last month, but right _now_, that she's paying for it. She thought the nights spent staring worthlessly at her ceiling in the dark, pathetically going over the ridiculous things that had had happened between she and Steve, were the worst of the side effects she'd have to endure - but she was obviously quite wrong. That it's effecting her so much now is a startling, sobering, _infuriating_ notion. One she cant seem to shake, even as another suitor comes sauntering her way, grinning devilishly.

"You seem lonely," he drawls, moving to stand between she and the bar. "Not much into mingling?"

"Not really my type of conversation," she answers honestly, letting the brief idea that perhaps she shouldn't be slip from immediate thought. "I find this whole thing a bit boring."

He seems surprised, if not a bit startled. "Boring?" and he sounds truly appalled. "Why, this is the most decadent gathering I've seen in Hawaii in many years. Everyone of importance is here, as you can so see."

Her eyes follow his hand's quick sweep of the roof top they've been stationed upon, her focus working passed all of the hanging bulbs and glittering fountains, to see the people he's so obviously impressed by. The Governor, of course, stands dead center, with a handful of men she cant for the life of her recognize, despite this guy's palpable enthusiasm. Perhaps they're some sort of investors, though she has her doubts with a few of them, noting with slight appreciation their sleek suits and expensive accessories. Company overlords, perhaps. Or the Devil's minions… whichever way you'd like to put it. Subjected to her distracted silence, and experiencing first hand her disinterested, glossy way of ignoring him, the slightly lanky man rolls his eyes and makes a hasty retreat, towards some other awaiting damsel, she's sure. Though she doesn't care much for the attention of these idiots, it's the man still lounging comfortably in a chair across the main area of the party, face half cast in the shadows of the darkening sky, away from the bright lights where the Governor and his guests have huddled, that bothers her. Had she not studied him so thoroughly, she'd have already moved to him, sparked a half-truth sort of conversation. The thought does little to help her patience, though, as she watches from the corner of her eye as he finally stands and moves around the table. His destination is only uncertain for a few seconds, however, and she realizes with a baited panic that he's swaggering, quite impressively, in her direction. She averts her eyes, feigns interest in the men attempting to dance, focuses more solely on the Governor's face - any type of familiarity is better than none, she's decided, just as Gretzkin steps up behind her, attention on the glass in his hand and the drink he's pouring into it. The bartender mumbles something to him, to which Gretzkin rumbles a short chuckle, and he's walking away before she has time to think of something suitable to say should he address her.

The night has been sluggish, long, and as he takes his seat at the table he's occupied for the entirety of the evening, her lacking confidence slips even further. Maybe Lori was right - maybe she should have let the blonde take over this whole thing, work this undercover. She may have experience, but obviously nothing that pulls this man's attention. It's as she's setting her glass down, steeling her nerve to tell her teammates that he's not nibbling at their bait, that she sees it. In the very spot he'd set his glass to refill it; his driver's license. Her stomach flips, chest doing funny little flutters, as she reaches for it. He didn't just nibble, he bit, hooking himself just as she thought he would. Her fingers play across the plastic, thumb brushing over his face, and she knows he's watching her, can feel his eyes burning through her side, awaiting her reaction. And even though a part of her knew better than to stray from the plan - she's never been very good at doing what she's told.

Without another thought, she drops his I.D. back to the table, along with her empty glass, and struts easily across the floor, towards the exit. Many of the men ogle her, she knows, as she moves by them, and even goes so far as to wink at one, just to draw a reaction. It's this man that gets up to follow her, and the scene she'd just imagined in her head begins to play just as she thought upon reaching the door to the stairway. His hand wraps around her upper arm, pulling her to face him, and she fights against the grimace when she gets a full look of his drunken face.

"Well, well," he's slurring, nose brushing against her forehead during one of his many sways. "Found me something sweet tonight, didn't I?"

She hears confident footfalls behind her current predicament and grins. "I fear you're mistaken, sir," she says as she pulls her arm from his grasp. "There's few things sweet about me."

"I highly doubt that." He's reaching for her again, and is surprised when her hand connects solidly with his face.

Perhaps it'd been a bit much - slapping him, that is, but the smirk on Gretzkin's face, one he probably thinks she's oblivious to, is reward enough for her troubles.

"What the hell was that for?"

"For assuming yourself man enough to spend the night with me," and it flows with such a calm, swift, sting that the man doesn't have time to fully understand before she's turned, headed once again for the stairs.

She makes it halfway down before he clears his throat.

"Excuse me, miss?"

Kono slows, but continues down, casting a smug glance over her shoulder. "Sorry, no more donations, I've been more than generous." She shrugs halfheartedly, grumbles a discernibly cross, "Now goodnight, sir."

He takes the steps a little quicker now, his interest obviously peaked. "Uh - no ma'am, you mistake my intentions, I only wish to -"

Her sigh is blatant and telling, stilling him as she makes a slow turn to face him. "To what? Hop in my limo with me and sleep in my bed tonight?" Her brow raises, intrigued by the almost innocent set of his face. "Spare me your lines and bullshit pickups. I've heard them all, and don't care to waste my time listening to any more."

She can her him move to follow her and she turns a hand on him, stilling him again. "Besides," she says slowly, a grin tugging at her lips. "I'm married, and I doubt my husband would appreciate me bringing a simple conquest such as yourself home to our bed."

To her greatest surprise, he smiles. "I doubt he would," he agrees, taking the steps between them with a slow ease. "But the same cant be said for you."

It amazes her; that he's taken to this so easily. "Is that right," and it comes out a lot huskier than she'd first meant it to. "I'm afraid I don't share in your confidence on the matter…" she turns to him completely, stepping up a hair. "I've been with some powerful men, and very few of them have impressed me."

"Maybe you just haven't been with the right one."

Something about the speed in which this whole thing is moving makes her a little nervous. She's beginning to think she should have just returned his license to him as planned, rather than ignore him so openly. Apparently that's more appealing to him, and he's advancing much more aggressively than she'd expected. Maybe she'd underestimated him - or given him too much credit…

"You think too much of yourself," she finally replies, shaking her head. He's staring at her like she's some sort of rare gem, his hand outstretched towards her, as if he's waiting for her to swoon and fall into his arms. It's disgusting. "Hopefully all that arrogance will keep you warm tonight. Good evening."

Her heels are the only thing she can hear as she makes for the ground floor, opting out of trapping herself inside an elevator, in the chance that one of those drunken fools end up in there with her. She's nearly made it to the stairwell on the third level, her shoes silenced on the plush carpet of the hallway, when the elevator stops in front of her, doors sliding open to reveal Gretzkin, leaning casually against the wall.

"Tired of walking yet?"

She grins, but it's halfhearted. She'd strayed from the plan, changed things up, and she's having trouble recuperating. She was supposed to lead him to her room inside the hotel, where cameras and microphones are strategically placed, well, _everywhere_, to catch every second of her time with him, and hopefully gain enough to cuff him right there. But now… now she's heading for the front door, and he's following, and she cant seem to find a reasonable escape from this. She quickly blames it on her own stupidity, remembering where her thoughts had traveled for most of the night, and did her best to appear unconcerned with his lingering presence.

"Actually," she chirps, attempting a lighter demeanor. "I think I am."

He's smiling that roguish smile, both charming and dangerous. "I've got a room," he offers, shrugging.

"So do I."

His smile widens, reaches his eyes, a boyish gleam lighting the strange shade of hazel. "Perhaps we shouldn't bother your husband at all."

She takes slow, deliberate steps towards the elevator, and despite the danger of the situation, can feel her blood pressure rising, her skin flushing just a tad. Having to work so closely with their target is pretty exhilarating, and the fact that she's nearly succeeded in getting him to her room makes for a high score in the boosting of confidence department. She's grinning at him, and he's giving her this weird little smile, and it's upon actually reaching him that she realizes she has no idea what to do now. It's horrifyingly practical - the way she stands before him, so very unsure, but seeming so very confident. It's classic Kono luck. She's got him right where she wants him, and what if not her most embarrassing weakness to blow the whole thing up. He's watching her with obvious trepidation, excited with her last minute pause, awaiting what exciting ventures she's to bring to his bed, or hers. But the joke's on him, isn't it? - cause she doesn't have any awesome tricks to pull out, no neat little tongue maneuver or crazy, flexible position to tease him with as she strips half naked in the hotel room. She doesn't even have the balls to strip half naked - not in such close quarters, not when something else is expected of her. She's supposed to be sure of herself, know what she wants and likes in a man, and here she stands - a whole lotta nothin' comin' to mind in that department. Her experiences are nothing if not plain, and she can honestly say it's mostly due to her own oddly placed fears.

"You're something of a mystery, you know that?"

She blinks, lets out a slow breath. "Part of my charm, I guess."

He smiles again, something so deliciously deliberate, and she knows beyond a reasonable doubt that she's in over her head. But she doesn't shy away when he reaches for her, when his fingers trace up the bare skin of her arm, over the shiny hem of her dress, casually gracing her cleavage. She knows that one wrong move pushes him away, alerts him to her uncharacteristic behavior, and she's really not in the mood to get shot again. So with much effort, she's moving towards him, fingers playing easily up the buttons of his shirt, tugging him down towards her, and in one last second of rational thought, she recognizes that she's lost her mind, just as his lips move over hers.

.

Never in her wildest imagination had she thought herself capable of something so absolutely insane. Not only had she managed to snag his attention, she'd managed to seduce him with less than thirty minutes in his presence under her belt, and have him merrily making his way to her room without any protest whatsoever. Not once has she had to throttle anyone, and she's nearly completed a mission once thought impossible by not only her, but her teammates. Grated, their fugitive's tongue is crammed down her throat, and her hands are tugging at the belt of his pants, and he's slamming her into the wall beside her room door - it doesn't really matter. She's got this whole thing under control, and is having a pretty good time while she's at it. As soon as they're inside the room she can hit the pause button, go to the bathroom, and call for backup. No big deal.

So she thought, anyway.

And maybe this whole thing would have worked out exactly how she'd planned, like it had so far, but she'll never know. Because as his hands slide up the back of her thighs, lift her legs around his hips - just as she's tugging her room key out of it's hiding place between her boob and the inside of her dress, she hears hurried footfalls somewhere in the distance. It's a little alarming, but considering the mass amount of people gathered for the party upstairs, she doesn't let it pull her attention. She remains completely absorbed in his touch, his kiss, just as he wants her to be, as her hand slips behind her, fumbling to secure the key into the slot. He's making all kinds of unattractive noises, so unfortunate given his previous charm, and she's trying her best to get them inside, just a little closer, so that she can call this in - let them know she's gotten him where they need him, get further instruction.

When she hears the unmistakable clap of a gunshot, she freezes, has no choice but to, when she feels Gretzkin go limp against her, his deadweight pushing her down the wall. Her eyes snap open and are greeted with the same fluorescents that were there when she closed them, but when she glances down, she has to fight the urge to scream. It's not so much the close proximity, as the amount of matter - matter that was, just moments ago, secured inside James Gretzkin's well manicured head, that disturbs her. It's everywhere. Across her chest, her face, down her dress, on the wall in front of her, the floor beneath her. Her hands are visibly shaking when she moves to shove him off, finding that he's much heavier when dead, and begins to choke on the words trying to bubble up her throat. Just as she starts to shove at him, a bit frantic in the way she's scrambling to move, attempting to keep from falling to the ground, his weight is gone, and she's stumbling to the side, falling against Danny's tie-less chest.

"Are you alright?" he demands, and she can see the uncertainty around his eyes. "Hey," he snaps his fingers, shakes her a little. "Are you alright?"

"Yeah," she's mumbling, turning to look at the body being lowered to the floor. "Wha - .. What the -" time seems to catch up, and she's whirling around, eyes narrowing in on Lori, service weapon still in hand. "What the _hell_ was that!"

Danny doesn't protest the outburst, prompting her to believe he's as clueless as she is. When Lori doesn't answer, Kono opens her mouth to start in on a well deserved rant, but stops short when Steve rounds the corner, grey eyes metallic, glimmering, a bit frightening.

"What the fuck happened?"

He's not yelling, but his quiet tone is equally as unnerving. And when he sees her, she contemplates running, 'cause he's wired and he's focused on her, and she doesn't think she has the brain power to deal with him right now. Not after having a man's head blow all over her.

"Are you -"

He's already rushed to her before he can ask, already moving hands and eyes over every inch of her over and over again, already pulling his phone from his pocket and readying himself to dial 911.

She sighs. "Steve," she says evenly, rolling her eyes when he pays her no mind. "Steve, I'm fine. It's not mine."

He looks at her, then, face a shaded façade of uncertainty, and she resists the urge to reach for him.

"What -"

" - I shot him."

His eyes dart to the blond still standing idle in the middle of the wide hallway, weapon lowered but held tightly in both hands.

"Why? They were almost in the room, why would you -"

"- I told you I had my reasons for following him here. He was my perp - my collar. If she'd have gone in there with him, there'd have been no getting to her in time. You were wrong," she's mumbling, hands beginning to tremble. "I do know him. You may have read up, but I've been on this guy for years. I've watched him victimize woman after woman, destroying their lives and leaving them with nothing. We would have succeeded only in allowing him to conquer another, and you'd have wallowed in that guilt for the rest of your life."

Kono blinks, wonders if she _did_ take one to the head. "What are you talking about? We had him!"

"He had _you_," Lori is emphasizing, finally dropping the gun to the ground. "Don't be foolish. Don't think for one second that you were playing him - he's always got the upper hand."

Several officers round the corner at once, weapons drawn, and Kono can only watch as they slowly approach Lori, pull her hands behind her back and cuff her. She glances at Danny when he nudges her.

"Told you she was damaged goods," he's whispering, nodding towards Gretzkin. "My money says this guy wooed our little lady here, just like all those other women, and she's forever the fool for falling for it."

Kono nods absently, a small part of her sorry for the woman being hauled away, her career and any opportunities she had left on the floor along with her service weapon.

.

There's a bit of a chill in the air of her office as she watches two suited men carry the last of Lori's things out the front door. The Governor is flailing in McGarrett's office, bald head quivering with pent up anger, veins popping out here and there. She tries to grin, but cant really manage one when she thinks of what he's probably goin' on about. Probably trying to blame the Boss for Lori's little breakdown, claiming he should have seen it coming. Pfft. They barely knew the woman. If anyone should be to blame, it should be the Governor, for doubting their ability to handle themselves. If Lori hadn't have lost her mind, Gretzkin would probably be rotting in a jail cell somewhere waiting on a court date.

The thoughts do the same as they did yesterday, and the day before, and she's unsure of how much more Advil her stomach can handle. Danny already claims to having stomach ulcers, resulting from too much of the stuff, all in thanks to the stress Commando puts on him during their day to day activities. Still, it's hard not to reflect. The man died with his tongue down her throat, probably enjoying himself, and will never really pay for the crimes he committed. Lori may believe that in death, she's punished him for said crimes, but killing him is too much of a cop out. He was unaware of why or by who, and in the end, he was never really caught. Technically, he was murdered. Murdered by one of the people who set out to stop him from doing just that. It's a circle she's sure she'll never understand.

"Pretty gloom and doom, huh?"

She glances up at Danny, shrugs. "I guess."

His sigh is a warning, but she ignores it, opting to stare at the unfinished paperwork on her desk.

"So I guess things'll go back to normal after this?"

Again, she shrugs. "Cant really be sure. Without Lori to distract him, I figure Boss-Man'll be back to his usual broody self."

"Probably."

The silence is comfortable, relaxing, and she's a little annoyed when it's broken by a knock at her door. She rolls her eyes - the door is open, honestly, why bother knocking?

"Hey," Steve greets quietly, hovering just outside. "Callin' it a night."

Danny stands and stretches, spares her a withering glance. "Me too. I'll see you guys in the mornin'."

He's already brushed passed Steve when she stands and grabs her jacket, shrugs it on.

"Just wanted to let you know that you did really good the other night," he says to her back, watching her busy herself with scattered papers.

She snorts. "So, what? No lecture about straying from the plan?"

"If you hadn't, he'd probably have never followed you." He pauses, takes a hesitant step towards her. "If Lori hadn't intervened, we'd have nailed him, no doubt about it."

"You made the right decision," he presses when she remains silent. "You knew exactly what he wanted and you played on it. It's all a matter of mindset."

She nearly laughs because, _Christ_, what would he say if she told him that her mind was in shambles that night? What would he do if he knew that the entire time that bumbling idiot was kissing her, she was thinking of him? He'd run like hell, is what he'd do, and she's in no mood to be left hanging. She shrugs it off, turns to face him.

"Thank you," she forces out, frowning. "I'll remember that."

She leaves him standing in her office, confused and disappointed, just as he'd left her that day in her kitchen. She hopes it hurts, though she doubts the effects are the same given the light weight of their time recently. She should let it go, this whole Steve thing, she knows that, wants nothing to do with any of this feeling business. As with her little black dress, she's learned another valuable lesson from her many cases alongside Steve McGarrett - Caring for someone is nothing but a cruel joke, the emotion itself almost as damaging as the realization of it. She's realized that she's let herself grow too attached to her stupid Commander - and something has to be done about it. Something drastic, and something immediate.

Something she's told herself a million times before…

.

**ANOTHER a/n! I know! How much can I talk about! - I did want to touch on Kono's characterization in this chapter, 'cause I don't want any of you to think I'm making her into a cheese-headed whimp. This chapter was mostly a filler, less Steve, more Danny, to kind of let their relationship breathe a bit after the last chapter. Still, I know she may have seemed off. This was mostly about her discomfort with herself sexually, unsure of when she stopped being so confident, when she started to doubt herself, even when facing a complete stranger she had no intention of sleeping with. She overcame it with Gretzkin to an extent, in the name of getting the job done, but that's not the full extent of her problem. It's resolved in the next chapter, so it's not a recurring issue. Devero is reintroduced in chapter 3, along with Steve/Kono interraction. lol Just wanted to throw that out there. **

**Oh! Speaking of chapter 3, I'm gonna give you the title, 'cause I'm pretty excited about this next one. Chapter 3: The Case With the Stupid Bunker. (As in military bunker, and yes, I stole it from the show, but take it in a completely different direction... can you guess!) Ohh, man. It's late, I'm tired, but I have to say oneee more thing... REVIEW! I was so excited when I saw how many I got for the last one. Thank you again!**

**Warning: Chapter 3 is DEFINATELY rated M. Remember that, and proceed with caution once it's posted. **

**Disclaimer: I do not own Hawaii 5-0, it's characters or plots. **


	3. Case With the Stupid Bunker

**Case Files**

**By: watermelon . drops**

**Chapter 3:**

**The Case With the Stupid Bunker…**

Though taken into the F.B.I.'s custody, Lori, and the personal vengeance she took out on Gretzkin over three weeks before, still lingered heavy in the 5-0 office. Kono wasn't sure if it could be blamed on the fact that Steve had so blatantly shown interest in the woman, or that they'd developed some sort of friendship, but during the weeks that followed her arrest, his moods have been off the wall, if not completely unpredictable. The night she left him in her office briefly makes an appearance in her attempted reasoning for his discontent, but she brushes it away quickly. Despite the things that continue to hover over them, things unsaid and unresolved, she can't bring herself to believe that she could elicit such emotions from him. Whatever had happened between them when Devero decided to put her six feet under was passed, gone, and she's reluctantly trying to accept that as she sits on a bench outside Kamekona's, poking at a small cup of shave ice.

It's sickening, how often she still thinks about that stupid kiss, about his eyes when she woke to find him in the ambulance with her. She briefly wonders if she's suffered some sort of permanent damage from the stress and physical trials she's been through over the passed year. Her eyes drop to the shave ice before her, and she sighs. No. Nothing permanent, though whatever he's done to her doesn't seem to be going away. And, yes, she blames him wholly. He should have stayed at the warehouse. Should have let Danny ride with her, should have let her cousin or maybe her friends help her home. There are about a million different ways she can think of to have avoided this entire, mind-gutting problem, and even as she sits going over them, reminding herself over and over again how insane it is to hold on to this stupid, pointless scenario they've created for themselves - she nearly falls from her seat when she sees him coming over to her, keys bouncing back and forth between his hands with an ease she hasn't seen in weeks. He seems pretty relaxed, with loose fitting jeans and a white tee making it hard to forget what it is that's underneath that frighteningly thin cotton. She blinks and he's before her, eyes squinting under the sun's mid-day rays.

"Hey," he greets casually, holding that calm demeanor. "Lose your cell?"

It occurs to her then that, yeah, she doesn't really know where it is. "I must've left it at home," she mumbles, searching her pockets with short, futile effort, knowing full well that she's done just that. "Why? What's up?"

He sighs. "I know it's supposed to be our day off, but we've got a case," and he seems truly regretful. "It's about a twenty minute drive, I can send the coordinates to your phone."

When he turns to leave, she realizes she's failed to answer him. Though, in her defense, it's a bit awkward being around him again, for the first time without Chin or Danny, since that night in her office.

"I - uh," she stammers, moving to stand from the bench, hands sliding into her back pockets. "My car's at my house, I caught a ride with someone here."

He pauses in his retreat, glances at her over a tensed shoulder. "A ride? With who?"

"A friend," she deflects, easing around him, towards his truck.

He follows close behind, but doesn't drop the apparent 'issue'. "Well, what friend? Andi? Uh - what's that other girl's name? Erika?"

She scoffs. "How bout none of your business?" And she's climbing in the truck, ignoring his curious face as he looks at her through the window, making no move to the driver's side.

"Was it Amy?"

Kono rolls her eyes and looks out the windshield, continues to avoid his face when he finally makes it to his side. He starts the truck and pulls away from Kamekona's, and through her annoyance with his nosiness, she recognizes the close proximity, the fact that, yep, they're definitely making a twenty minute drive, alone, in the confines of the cab of his truck. To her greatest luck, he seems to notice her discomfort, and pulls his phone from his pocket, hands it to her.

"A local sent the picture to P.D. from a prepaid cell. We got the carrier, but can't track the phone -"

"- as usual," she grumbles, shaking her head. "You'd think that with all our technology and advancements, we'd have found a way to track those damn phones by now."

He smiles. "No kidding." She's looking at him strangely when he casts a sidelong glance, but he leaves it alone, moves along. "Anyway, the body is facedown, so we couldn't try and pull an I.D. from the photo, though it's obviously male. Danny and Chin are gonna meet us there with Max, hopefully we'll be able to figure it out pretty quick, get back to our day off."

"Here's hopin'," she agrees, grinning. "So where's the body located? In the picture it looks as if the person taking it is standing over, like on a platform of some sort."

"That's the catch, actually," he's saying, turning in his seat to check the other lane, flipping his blinker on. "Apparently it's in an old World War Two bunker."

"Underground?"

"Partially. It's mountainside, so some of it was worked into the hill of the mountain, built into it rather than flattening or molding the land to accommodate the structure. A good portion of it was tunneled underground, though, later. According to the blueprints that P.D. has for the place, the ground level is older, but sturdier than the lower levels."

"They can measure stability on blueprints?" she wonders skeptically, raising a brow. "That doesn't sound right."

"Not by the blueprints," he murmers, letting his arm drop to the rest between them. "After some kids got trapped in there a few years back, the Governor ordered a check of the place, and P.D., alongside Honolulu Fire Department, were front line on the assignment. They took records of most everything and stored them with the place's file in the Veteran's Assembly Historical Monument Division."

"So this place is owned by the museums?"

"Not completely," he drawls, brows furrowing. "A few of the veterans that wanted to memorialize the place, also disagreed with anyone actually owning it. Said that it was built and manned by soldiers, and shouldn't be subjected to the remodeling a museum would surely heap upon it. They accused the museum director of trying to make it into a tour stop, and they wouldn't stand for it."

"So who won that argument?" she asks, eyes unintentionally resting on his face, despite her mind's warnings _not_ to. "I would assume the state sided with the museum, considering the amount of income the place could rake in."

"I thought the same thing, but was informed upon catching this case that nobody's won, at least not yet. The Governor hesitated when the veterans began to rally, showing both she and everyone else that they wouldn't back down. Fighting with the public over a parking lot is a lot easier, and less complicated, than fighting with War Veterans over a tool used by them while fighting for their country."

Kono nods, turns eyes to the countryside moving passed, the ground slowly disappearing behind them as Steve weaves the truck around the mountain road, trees hovering in abundance above them, casting a cool shade over the vehicle. "So, basically, it's no man's land. For now."

"For now," he agrees quietly. "Which is how locals are still able to 'break in', though breaking in only consists of unlocking the door and propping it open to keep from being locked in."

She chuckles. "I'm sure the kids get a kick out of that."

"Yeah, and I'm pretty sure that's who sent P.D. the picture. Adults aren't so drawn to dark, damp places in the middle of the mountains."

"But kids with a dare -"

"- will do just about anything," he agrees with her unfinished declaration. "Luckily none of them have fallen down our vic's hole."

"A hole we need to avoid, yeah?"

Steve shrugs. "We have to go down there and get the body. Max'll have to examine it before being moved to try and get any residue that could be wiped away during transport. I guess we'll be hanging with him for a while, if we can find a safe way to get down there."

Kono nods, but doesn't comment. How can she, when her attention's been drawn away from the conversation, away from the case, by his arm on the rest between them, comfortably pressed to hers. He doesn't seem to notice, but then he seems to be completely absorbed with their surroundings, focused on getting them to their end destination. Unfortunately, she doesn't have such distraction, and is eyeing their arms on that stupid rest with such an uncomfortable distress that she's surprised he doesn't feel her gaze, melting like acid through his skin. His hand twitches and her breath halts, noting how with just a small arch, her fingers would be in his palm and it would be _way_ too much like a normal couple, riding in the car, holding hands. She shakes her head, fights against a face palm. Jesus, what has gotten into her? Constantly thinking of him is bad enough, but letting something as simple as his hand's proximity to hers get under her skin is just pathetic. How many times have they ridden like this in the past? Like, a gazillion, and this one should be no different. Still, as they pull off road and Steve moves his arm, getting a better grip on the steering wheel, she feels a bit of disappointment at the loss. They've been steadily avoiding one another for months now, not so much conversation, but anything remotely close to touch has been evicted from their interaction, and it was nice to feel it again, even in such a small dose.

"It should be right up here," he says into the silence, glancing her way. "You alright?"

She blinks. "Yeah. Just tryin' to figure out why a grown man would be in a WWII bunker alone, with no supplies or a shirt, if this picture serves right. You'd think that if he wanted to explore -"

"- he'd have brought someone along, or at least a lunch, and there's no sign of either in the picture."

"Right, and the kids got a pretty good shot of his surroundings, so if he'd had a pack with him, even if he'd fallen, it'd be somewhere near where he landed."

"True enough, but let's save this for when we get there," he's saying through a smile, shaking his head. "We'll drive ourselves crazy trying to figure this out without all the information."

She nods. "Very true."

Steve weaves the truck through a tight gathering of brush, through a clutter of trees that only seemed to last for a short distance, and when they break the tree line, she blinks against the sun's vengeful reappearance and finally spots what they're looking for. Seemingly a part of the mountain, the bunker's door is really all that's to be seen upon approach. He parks the truck a decent distance away from the large double doors and they waste no time in hopping out, making their way across the small field. Kono is forced to reflect on her choice of outfit for the day; a tank that continues to rise up her back, shorts that refuse to cover enough of her legs to protect from the high grass, and sandals that are now caked in grassweed residue. She frowns as they near the large entrance, noting the graffiti splattered along the front in various colors.

"They could at least be creative," Steve grumbles, eyeballing the artwork. "How many times, and in how many places, must you declare your love for someone? Tammy loves Drew? These kids are probably, what, twelve?"

Kono grins. "And now you know why Danny's always stressin' over Grace."

"Boys, sure, but that guy will seize out over an untied shoelace." Her laughter is almost foreign after so long, but he welcomes the honesty of the sound. He's smiling for reasons he'd rather not acknowledge. "Speaking of Danny, I wonder what's taking him and Chin so long."

"Probably had to stop and get Max," she's saying through softening chuckles, hand pressing to her aching stomach. "Or they might have had to swap out their service vehicles for something that could make it up here."

Steve sighs. "I forgot about that."

"Should we go in without them?"

There's something in the way he glances at her; it makes her thighs burn. He's watching her with a raw sort of uncertainty, his eyes asking her things his mouth is too chicken shit to voice. Among the millions of scenarios that play in her head as to how it could wind up, she stumbles upon the horrid notion that they could keep this up - this easiness they've reacquired. There's been no argument, no crossing of boundaries, and she wonders if, choosing to enter that dark bunker together, it would be possible to continue on this way. Would they be able to brush aside all the things they left hanging up in the air, or allow them to strike a match, threaten their peace with notions of truth and finality. She's as unsure as he looks, because there's just something about being in a closed, dark space that makes things so much more real, so much more inviting. She thinks her stomach has mistaken this for Steve's bedroom, if the wild flips and jumbled function is of any indication.

"I -"

And she prepares herself for the rejection, though she hadn't realized this had become some sort of secret date - _thing_ until he was getting ready to answer.

"Yeah," he finally answers, moving a hand over the large bolt in the center of the doors. "Hold this open until I find something to stick in front of it."

She watches him open it with wide eyed surprise, suddenly under the impression that she'd truly lost her mind. And maybe he had, too. 'Cause according to her calculations, she'd suggested that they, 1: begin an investigation without backup and, 2: that they allow themselves into an enclosed room, _alone_, after everything that's happened between them. And to her utmost horror, he'd agreed. She steps up and grabs hold of the door, surprised to find that she has to strain to keep it from slamming closed.

"I'll be right back," he mutters, attention already drawn to the area around them.

Kono can only nod her silent confirmation. _Christ_, what the hell is goin' on? She blinks a few times, thinking maybe she'd dreamed this whole thing up because, let's face it, she had been pretty adamant about steering clear of situations such as this, and until now, had succeeded. Nothing good could possibly come of it but, again, she's pretty sure she'd been the one to offer it up. Then, as she's watching the broad expanse of McGarrett's back as he picks up a few different sized boulders, she thinks maybe she's reading too far into it. They're partners, right? Co-workers. Sometimes friends. They could surely get through, at the most, thirty minutes of working alone. Danny and Chin and Max should be here soon and… - yeah, they can do this. _She_ can do this.

"This should work," he says through a grunt, hefting a boulder, one that could have easily weighed twice what she did on a good day, across the short distance and plopping it at her feet. "Let it go. I doubt it'll move that."

She quirks a brow. "I don't see how _you_ moved that."

"Well," he drawls, a grin that makes her kneecaps melt tugging at his lips. "I suppose it _is_ pretty heavy…"

"Oh my God," Kono breaks in, rolling her eyes. "I should have known better than to feed that ego of yours."

She brushes passed him with the slightest of smiles, ignoring the way he's smirking and looking at her as if nothing between them is amiss. It's nice; being around him again.

"So should we start looking up here first, or go straight for the body?"

He doesn't answer her at first, and just as well, 'cause she wouldn't have heard him. Her eyes drift lazily up and around the massive room, noting with an appreciative intake of breath how much work this place must have been. The entirety of the space is blotched, shadowed by darkness and heights too far for her eyes to adjust - but what she can see is just as astonishing. Metal frames are worked into the side of the mountain, still visible, and serving as the back wall, the other three sides constructed of materials just as sturdy, if not more impressive. It angles a bit, she realizes, as she moves forward, the roof of the front much higher than that of the space furthest from her, and the sides are amiably spaced, leaving a floor of such footage that she's at a loss of what to do upon first venture. Running across it just to see how long it takes crosses her mind, maybe adding a theatrical slide at the end, when she notices the slick material beneath her feet. It'd probably be fun, given the amount of room, but her attention is diverted when she sees two rails protruding from the spacious area towards the back, nearly hidden by crates and trunks and cardboard boxes. Sifting through the stuff would probably be interesting - she makes a mental note, thinking that sneaking in here _would_ be of some entertainment, after all. The thought is squashed, though, when she moves farther in and the fresh air of outside is replaced with something thick and putrid. It moves into her nostrils with an angry sort of determination, and it's in her throat, choking her, reminding her why they've come here.

"My God," Steve grumbles, the back of his hand pressing to his nostrils. "That is _horrible_."

"I know," Kono concedes, face crumpling. "Worse than it usually is when we find em'."

He comes up behind her, chest pressing into her shoulder, looking over her head. "It's not unusual. I wouldn't be afraid to say it's a hundred degrees in here. I doubt the body's in very good condition."

Though she knows it's probably _not_ a hundred degrees in the place, his exaggeration feels about accurate, if the sweat gathering at her hairline is of any importance. "I guess it's a safe guess that they weren't so worried about proper ventilation."

"No," Steve mumbles distractedly, moving ahead of her, towards the rails she spotted before. "There is _some_ ventilation, but nothing near to what you'd hope for, and most of them have been weathered over the years, clogged with mud and dirt. The wind up here on the mountain is a lot worse than below. They'd need someone to check and clean the vents daily to keep them open."

A little disheartened by the heat, Kono only nods and follows him to the ladder, standing shoulder to shoulder with him when she reaches what's obviously the entrance to the lower levels of the bunker.

"Well," she sighs, "there he is."

And with only a moment's hesitation, they took the rusted ladder down to whatever might be waiting below.

.

If the ground level of the bunker was magnificent and spacious, the underground was a damp, muddy mess. Her sandals had sunk almost immediately when she'd dropped from the last step of the ladder and she's been up to her calves in grime since. Steve didn't seem too impressed, either, but if it was bothering him, he didn't let it show. His eyes and full attention had found the victim, whose license she's just discovered a few feet from the body names as one Alexander Rebou. Steve's face draws a little at the name.

"Rebou? That sounds….odd."

Kono nods. "His license was issued in New York." She shrugs. "Maybe he hasn't had it changed over."

"Maybe he wasn't planning on staying."

"If he was here on business, what the hell brought him all the way up here? How would he even know about it? There are locals that are still oblivious to this place."

Steve shakes his head a little, crouched close to the head of the body. "No. Someone would have had to lead him here, or tell him about it. I don't think he'd have stumbled upon it, like you said, what would have brought him so far out." He pauses, watching the scattered pattern of insects crawling in and out of parted flesh along the man's cheekbone. "Is there anything in his wallet? Anything of use?"

Kono sifts through folded receipts and business cards, pulls apart the largest fold of the wallet and grunts, pulling Steve's attention. "He's loaded, for one thing," she says with a grin. "At least three thousand in cash."

"Alright," Steve grumbles, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Someone either brought him or led him out here, obviously confronted him, and then, what? Left three thousand dollars _cash_ on the body? This isn't adding up."

"Maybe it was more personal than money."

"Like?"

Kono's attention peaks at a card, folded neatly behind the money. "Guess somebody's back in action after our last go-round."

Steve's eyes narrow at the writing she's trying to show him but cant from such a distance, their only light source being an entire level up, at the far end of the room. "I'll be right back."

She starts, watching him move across the dark space. "What? Where are you going?"

"To get a flashlight." He pauses halfway up the ladder, glances at her. "And some water. It's hot as hell in here."

She nods and watches him go, warding the shadows off with an easy shrug of indifference. It's not in her to let something as silly as darkness creep her out, even if she _is_ in an ancient bunker, underground, with no way out if something should happen. Her thoughts fog too quickly for her to help and she's glaring around the room as she waits, noticing the smallest of things. Like how the framing down here seems to bow, unstable, against the harder, less weathered conditions of the mountain. How there's a constant dripping of water in several different places, coming from….where, exactly? Or maybe the continuous crumbling of rock and dirt around her, unseen but definitely heard, making her wonder just how safe it is for them to be down here. It's like they've literally climbed into a poorly dug hole, and the jagged edges of the surface above do nothing to quell her bit of anxiousness when she glances up, searching for McGarrett. There's a small rumble beneath her, and she's just stood, ready to climb the ladder when he appears, slides down, hands her a bottle of water.

He turns the flashlight on with a _click_ and the shitty conditions are amplified. "Jesus," he nearly whispers. "I guess they didn't feel the need to finish this part."

"Finish?" she asks, laughing. "Looks like they just dug a hole and hoped for the best."

He nods but doesn't comment, and she nearly jumps out of her skin when his fingers close around her wrist, turning the card she's holding so he can see it.

"Devero," he bites, irritable. "Well there's our connection."

Kono frowns. "Still, what would they have been doing up _here_? Devero is a crook, a murderer, an asshole - but he's classy about it."

Steve snorts. "Classy?" and he seems as if he's on the verge of laughing. "Seriously?"

"Well, yeah," she says, smiling in spite of the incredulous look on his face. "He's not the type of guy to come trudging through the forest, using a friggin' hot-box for his business meetings. He's more wine and dine. Honestly, I don't think he can live without his champagne."

There's a moment's pause. His hand on her wrist, eyes on the card, so close she can smell the remnants of his body wash, the faintest hint of perspiration beginning to poke through. His chest presses to her shoulder when he draws in a deep breath, small strands of hair, fallen from their places in the band holding her ponytail in position, softly carried across her cheek as he exhales.

"Though I hate the guy, I think you're right." He says quietly, still huddled close. "Doesn't seem like his choice venue. I doubt the same can be said for his guys, though."

She looks up at him. "If this guy knew something and Devero wanted him to stay quiet, he wouldn't be against getting one of his little lackey's hands dirty. Maybe _he_ wouldn't entertain the idea of hanging in a place like this -"

"- he wouldn't be so picky if someone else was doing the work."

They both smile, satisfied with their evaluation, and her breath catches a little when he takes his hand from her wrist and throws his arm over her shoulder, squeezing shortly before letting go.

"I'm callin' Danny," he says through a sigh, moving back towards the body. "After I send some pictures to Max."

The silence is thick, but not uncomfortable. She thinks what little distress she does feel has a lot to do with the smell, and the conditions of their current residence. She watches him as he moves around the body, snapping shots, grunting all the while in that satisfied way of his. It makes her smile; how alike they are sometimes. She knows that feeling, after all. Stumbling upon a mystery, dissecting it, finding the possible reasons for it. Maybe they don't know the whole story yet, but they've got a few clues, and she's pretty sure they've got the gist of it. Finding that card in Mr. Rebou's wallet was a Godsend, considering the other evidence they are so lacking. Fingerprints don't seem very likely, thanks in part to the dampness, and in part to what the guy's face down on. Dirt and rubble and who knows what else doesn't leave much space for something as sensitive as a fingerprint, and can even hinder finding substantial residue around the wound if it were a gun that killed him. She hasn't taken the time to look too closely at the decomposing body. Since descending into the lower level, she's found that her stomach isn't at all accustomed to such devastating surroundings, and the smell coming from Steve's current focus is enough to send her running back up that ladder and outside. So she busies herself with the crime scene, careful not to disrupt anything that could be of importance, casting the flashlight in every darkened corner, every small hole, anything that could harbor something that could help recreate what happened here. She's eyeballing a small clump close to the body, near where she found the wallet, when Steve's voice cuts through the quiet.

"Danny," he's saying, still surveying the dead man's head. "We think this man was connected to Devero somehow - yeah, Alexander Rebou - no.. - stop interrupting me! What do you mean _return of the Neanderthal_? I have not been acting like a woman on her - what? Yes, Kono is with me."

Kono smiles in spite of the mud now caking her fingers, temporarily ignoring Steve's voice as she pushes the muck aside, finally grasping the object in question. She rubs a finger gently over the surface of the object and her eyes widen when it reveals a smudged cell phone front. "Hey Steve," she calls excitedly, using the bottom of her shirt to free the device from it's thick, disgusting coat. "I got a cell."

It takes McGarrett a second to realize what she said, through his obvious focus on whatever Danny's griping about now, but when he does, he smiles. "Danny, we got a cell. - wha - how would I know what's on it? I haven't _looked_ at it yet. Would you give me a second! I'm - no, I'm _not_. She's right in front of me, what do you mean I need to -"

Kono is smiling up at his face, reddened with irritation, when she hears something that _really_ resembles the sound of footsteps. She freezes, and so does Steve, when there's a soft _thud_ just above the ladder. He's holding a hand out to her, signaling her to stay still, quiet. They're staring up at the opening, half expecting someone's head to pop out, but are rewarded only with an eerie silence that has the invisible hair on her neck and arms standing on end. Steve must have felt similar, if that narrow-eyed look was of any inclination. The silence drags on and she can tell McGarrett's getting restless, defying his own orders to stay put and moving slowly, quietly, towards the ladder. He's stuffed his phone in his pocket and has his gun drawn, one hand reaching for the rail, when they hear it. The force of the door closing sends a surprisingly strong gust through the large building, the scent of outside briefly reaching her as darkness descends upon the vast space. She's still frozen in place, but can be silent no longer.

"That boulder," she says to Steve, pointing the flashlight in his direction. "You don't think -"

"- there's no way that door moved it," he answers quickly, pulling himself up the first step of the ladder. "Someone's here, and I doubt they locked themselves in."

Her stomach lurches at the notion, her breath suddenly heavy with fear of being trapped inside this place, in the dark, with little to no ventilation. She's never been claustrophobic, but in a situation such as she finds herself in, the feeling isn't so improbable.

"But the lock," she begins, shaking her head.

"Is on the outside." He glances at her, eyes squinting against the small beam of light. "There's no way for us to open it from in here. But -" and he sounds absolutely sure "- Danny and Chin are on their way. We wont be in here long."

She's nodding, though she knows he's already turned back to the ladder, and he's halfway up when the thought smacks her in the gut. "Steve," she whispers, "if it's the same person," and she cant help but glance at the body. "They'll know that."

He pauses, looks back down over his shoulder. "Stay here, I'll be right -"

Before she has time to blink, everything seems to implode. One second, she's looking up at him, listening to what he's saying, and the next - everything's just dark. There's a sharp blast and she loses her grip on the flashlight, on the cell phone, on her balance. She's thrown back and all at once her breath is gone, replaced with an intense feel of suffocation as mound after mound of dirt is piled on top of her; in her eyes, on her face, her chest, her legs. Through the chaos that has become the lower level of the bunker, she's aware of very few things. The dusty air she's trying to breathe, the building panic suddenly poisoning her rational thought, and bulk after bulk pressing down on her. She can hear the crumbling of earth, the bending of metal, the thunderous rumble of unsteady structure vibrating all the way through her as she closes her eyes, tries desperately to clam herself. She can't breathe, can't think - it's all she can do not to kick and flail and scream, beg for someone to pull her out of the growing amount of rubble.

Kono manages to take in a small breath when the reverberations slow, another when the shifting of dirt begins to fade out and the last of whatever rocks and pebbles are loose clack down the piles made to the floor below. She tries to move her arms in the dusty silence that follows; to no avail. Her legs and arms are pinned to her beneath globs of earth larger and heavier than she is, her head trapped between ground and dirt, slowly becoming mud as the drips she'd heard before hasten, fall over her face in steady streams. Panic flares again when she hears no sign of Steve, when silence stretches and swells until her eyes are wide and her chest heaving. She begins to struggle against the weight, cries out unintentionally when it all shifts, only to be replaced by more, heavier than before. Despite extensive field work, undercover ops, near death's that were as painful and frightening as they come - she can feel her entire body shaking, unable to move away from the source of her distress, unable to free herself, no escape in sight. It starts to close in on her, oppressive, restricting, and her heart wont stop pounding, wont slow down, until she's absolutely positive that her chest is about to cave in on itself, lungs constricting, stomach lurching, quivering, rolling. She can hear her own breathing, loud against the enclosed space, desperate in the harsh, frightened way that they heave from her throat. It hurts; how helpless she feels. And just as soon as she starts whimpering, short, sobby sounds, something moves above her, and she falls completely still.

"Kono?"

She nearly screams with relief. "Yes! I'm under here. Get me out, it's friggin' crushing me."

Kono hears Steve grunt, the only affirmation she'll get, surely. Her mind begins to whirl around her injuries; where it hurts, where it doesn't, where she cant feel anything at all. She wiggles her toes a little, just to be sure she can, and does the same with her fingers. Her shin is burning, and her right elbow is numb - uncomfortably so. Both shoulders hurt from being crunched together, her collar bones and neck throbbing from the pressure, as well. It's hard to tell, still compacted the way she is, but nothing seems to be too devastating. She can feel most everything, and that's what's important. She'd rather feel pain any day than that tingly, far-off numbness that accompanies broken bones, or crushed nerves. The thought disturbs her, and she fights against the anxiety trying to prickle it's way back to the surface. A small beam of light shines through as rocks and clusters and dirt are moved away from her prone form, falling around her in a dusty, heaping mess. She coughs; raspy and dry.

"Are you alright?" Steve's asking, before she's even been freed. "Is anything broken? Try to move everything, see what -"

"I'm okay," she answers slowly, calm. "I've already tried to check… everything seems alright, so far." She hesitates, glances up through the small hole he's made, watches as his fingers grasp the large globs and yank. When she can finally see his face, she frowns. "Are _you_ alright?"

"Fine," he mumbles, and she doesn't quite believe him.

Kono doesn't say anything, lets him keep digging, but watches him closely. There's a hitch in his left shoulder, and his fingers are bloodied, more so than she'd have expected. His face is dark, a color than can only be made with earth and blood, and she can see a large gash above his right eyebrow. His hair is matted, seems wet, darker than usual. She wonders if it's blood, if it's mud, if it's water… the situation seems to worsen as seconds pass.

"Give me your hand," he finally says, face hollow. "When I pull, try to get your feet under you."

She does as he says, wiggles her arms free, puts her hands in his. It sounded a lot easier when he'd said it, 'cause when he pulls, her whole body feels like it's been twisted, coiled for hours, and slowly being unwound, muscles tense and sore. She groans when she pulls her legs under her, puts a little weight on them. It hurts like hell, and she's no trouble admitting it to herself. Her eyes pinch closed when he starts pulling harder, taking hold of her around the waist when she's far enough out, and she does let out a very unattractive sound when he yanks her the rest of the way. They tumble to the ground in a heap, Kono on bottom. Her first thought is to berate him for pulling her out from under a bunch of boulders, only to drop her and proceed to press _all_ his weight atop her, as if he's light or somethin'. But her thoughts are frozen all at once when she opens her eyes and he's there, nose so close that she can feel it grazing the tip of hers, eyes open and questioning and worried. It's funny; how fast things shift.

"Kono," he breathes, and she's unnerved in a matter of seconds. Because it's honest and it's quiet and sure. He's defenseless again, and part of her is ignited, knowing it's her that does this to him.

He's bloody and dirty and he smells like sweat and outside and mud - it's the sexiest thing she's ever seen. "I'm alright," she assures, watching him in his silent exploration of her injuries. "Really. I'll be fine. It's nothing serious."

He exhales slowly, as if he's been holding it in all this time, and gives her a short nod. But he doesn't move, doesn't even pretend as if he has any intentions of moving, and she lies beneath him in a shivering heap of nerves, mind conjuring up all kinds of different situations they could be in, in this exact position. Her eyes close when he leans a little to the side, exposes her torn tank top, the swell of her breasts _way_ too prominent beneath the white material. At least he has the decency to feign interest elsewhere.

"Let me see your elbow."

She lifts the arm and turns it to him. "What's it look like?" If asked, she'd surely blame the lack of attention on her inability to _see_ her elbow, and leave out the nerves that had played a large part in her refusal to look at it.

"Pretty bad," he mumbles honestly. "Keep it still. I cant tell if it's broken or shattered or.. -"

She opens her eyes and watches the series of conflicts play across his face, watches him go back and forth with himself over something he obviously doesn't feel comfortable with. She keeps quiet, though, and lets him work it out, because the last time they were in such a predicament continuously pricks at her conscious thought, reminds her of what happened last time they were _this_ close. This _alone_. Why it frightens her to such levels is beyond her, and it's as annoying as it is strange.

"Steve," she whispers, moving her head so that she's looking up at his face, strategically turned to the side. "We're alright."

"Your stomach -"

She glances at where his eyes have fallen, and restrains the horror, doesn't let it surface. He's already worried, probably finding some way to take all the blame, and she's not in the mood to watch him tear himself apart. Her shirt is torn from just under her bra, to the waistline of her shorts, most of the material just… gone. There are deep cuts in straight lines down her midriff, uneven and, well.. _ugly_. She fights the urge to pout - she's always been very proud of her stomach.

"They're just scratches, Steve."

He frowns. "I shouldn't have pulled you out like that, I should have dug the rest of the way."

"For the love of -" she growls, rolling her eyes. "It's not your _fault_! I was trapped under all that shit and you pulled me out, just like I wanted. Give me a break, Steve, your fingers are torn to shreds. You couldn't have finished without losing em'. I'd rather have a few scratches than have to sew your fingers back on."

It doesn't sate him, though. He's in that mode. Playing what Danny proclaims the McGarrett-Self-Blame-Game. It's a vicious cycle, and one she doesn't fully understand, even to this day. To be such an imposing, dominating figure, he's surely the most unappreciative of his own actions, skills, so on, and she cant for the life of her imagine being so talented, and still unable to find an inch of self worth. She pauses in her musings, sheepishly thinking of her own unfortunate thoughts about herself the night of Gretzkin's bust, and frowns. Alright, so maybe she can understand to an extent, but still, this guy's got medals fallin' out his ass and he's still content with heaping every bit of drama and fault upon his shoulders, with no thought to how it may effect him. Her frown deepens. Again, their likeness is as thick as the tension between their bodies, wet and grimy and so _close_ right now it's almost painful. She cant remember a time when she'd taken the time to dissect even _one _of his personality faults, and now, after doing so, she finds that she shouldn't have put the effort in. One of his many issues are one in the same with her own, _again_, and it's unfortunate that she's come to this realization _now_; underground, sopping wet, trapped, and injured. Why is it that they're incapable of being together unless it's a life threatening situation?

"Maybe there's a gap in the rubble," he's saying thoughtfully, glancing around the effected area. "If so, we could probably dig our way out. It'd take a while, but I think we could manage until Chin and Danny get here and figure out what's going on."

She's watching him, silent, because what the hell is she supposed to say now? Now that she's effectively filled her head with thoughts of this man above her, someone she respects, someone selfless and strong and admirable in more ways than she could ever count, and softened the shell she'd put around herself to avoid him until it's nothing but mush, only assisting in the stupid, gooey _feelings_ that permeate every defense she's got. It's maddening, and annoying, and she wishes she had the strength to shove him away, smack him around and pretend this moment of epic 'realization' never took place. What these realizations are, she's still wishy washy on, because she's always known how good a man he is . . . . - maybe she's just been avoiding the subject to keep from furthering her dilemma with him. A dilemma, she's decided, that effects both of them more than she'd previously admitted. Glancing back, she wonders just _how much_ their situation bothered him. How much he thought about her, about that day in her kitchen, about how it ended, about the time spent apart, about her walking away from him…

"You don't give yourself enough credit, ya know," she says quietly, effectively jarring him from whatever he was thinking. "It doesn't _always_ have to be your responsibility, or your fault."

He looks down at her for only a second before pushing up and away from her, plopping to his butt, scooting away towards a surprisingly large gathering of dirt where the wall used to be. Reaching in his pocket, he pulls out his cell and moves to ignore her.

She laughs; a loud, incredulous sound. "Nowhere to run to this time, huh?" and the honesty of it is both thrilling and terrifying when she realizes that she's initiated this… again. "Funny how we seem to keep making the same mistakes. Only, now you're stuck in here with me, and I can say whatever the hell I want." She shrugs, smiles up at the crumbling structure above. "I wonder how long before you stick your fingers in your ears? Or maybe you'll just bash your head into a rock until you've rendered yourself unconscious?" Her eyes fall lazily to where he's seated, watch with amusement as he stares, seemingly horrified at her perception of their situation. "Which were you thinking? I'm gonna go out on a limb and say the rock."

Horrified surprise quickly morphs into indifference, which is far worse. "I was thinking you must have hit your head harder than you realized, and was just about to call our backup and see if they've arrived."

"Mhmm," she hums, unperturbed. "And I'm sure you were going over all the ways this could have been prevented, thinking you should have never agreed to come in here without our backup, shouldn't have made such a rash, unorthodox decision without notifying someone, blah, blah, _blah_. Don't pretend like you're all calm and collected, McGarrett, I know better."

If he's bothered by her deduction, he doesn't show it, doesn't let it spill into the words that tumble out next. "Sure you do." He glances at her and frowns for a moment, as if truly judging her for the first time, eyes narrowed and sharp. It makes her squirm a little. "You know everything, don't you? Got it all figured out, right? Why am I even here? I'm sure you would have cracked this all on your own, without any help. Maybe you'd have even got out without a bullet hole, who knows?"

She sits up on her good elbow, the other cradled to her stomach, and is scowling with all her busted up face is worth. "Don't turn this into an argument about my abilities. Insulting me, making jabs at me, it's not going to distract me from what I've said. You _don't_ give yourself enough credit, and you cant control everything, Steve. Running yourself into the ground, trying to bust everyone at once isn't going to do anyone any good. When you're dead, what happens then?"

So, turning this into a question of his professional intentions, and the motivations behind them, wasn't what she originally planned, but it's having the desired effect, anyway. He's turned his eyes from her, obviously still fairly surprised with what she's done with their conversation, and tries to feign interest in the phone, cradled in his hands. It's not that his personal problems and what's caused them are her main focus, given where her thoughts turned to upon being drug from her own special form of hell, quite literally, but it's an issue that's been lingering, long before she decided that falling, disgustingly so, for her boss was a good idea. Danny complains incessantly about it, Chin broods silently over it, and Steve tries his hardest to ignore it, but it remains ever present in their workplace, no matter the case or community disaster that's taking place. McGarrett is a good man, and watching him suffer in silence, over something nobody quite grasps, is a difficult feat, even for someone as socially stunted as Kono.

She blinks when he stands up, unable to mask the surprise as he moves across the small, cramped space, pushing against the mess, searching for a weak spot. The clearing of her throat draws him back, if only a little.

"We're trapped in the lower levels of a bunker, with no good form of ventilation, probably a limited air supply, _one_ bottle of water, a flashlight, and, _oh!_ a dead body is hidden somewhere under all this _shit_ that's now on top of us, one that we we're responsible for, and you want to bring up personal shortcomings? Now?"

Her small grunt, one of both pain and embarrassment, doesn't deter him. She frowns when he continues.

"We've barely spoken, hardly glanced in the same direction, for so long now, that I can barely remember what we're so angry at each other for -"

She winces. That hurt.

"- and the first time we work together after alllll this time, we end up not only breaking protocol, but endangering ourselves, _and_ completely destroying the crime scene and any evidence we may have had. You'll probably need to go to the hospital, hell, maybe I will too, and -"

She regretted this conversation as soon as he opened his mouth, or maybe it's as soon as she actually said something that got to him, but she doesn't think it really matters. He's ranting and spouting off every single thing they've done to muss this up, and part of her knows he's only doing it to draw her away from the things she'd brought up, but who cares? 'cause it's working, and somewhere between the things he's saying and the truth of what she'd broached, she's a little more upset than she'd have expected. He purposely brought up why they've been on the outs with one another, _purposely_ said that he hardly remembered it, trying to imply that, no, he doesn't think of what happened at all and, no, he doesn't care like she wants him to. It should have hurt her feelings, made her want to crawl under one of those rocks and wait with excruciating impatience until Danny n' Chin show up… _should_ have.

"Hardly remember, huh?" and she says it as if she's just realizing exactly what he meant, and she can see the uncertainty flicker through the storm in his eyes, though he never stops pulling at the disheveled mass of rubble, trying to pretend he's not all that interested. "Maybe you'd remember better if I dyed my hair blonde and dressed like a desperate hooker at work? Or maybe if I was, I dunno… _crazy_?"

He stops immediately, and she doesn't dignify any of it with further comment, just lays back and stares up, away from him. Perhaps it'd been a little far; to bring up Lori. But, c'mon, that chick's interference in their already crumbly situation was less than welcomed, and she'd never got to say anything about it. She hadn't even complained about the unfortunate position she and Danny had seen the two of them in, which, secretly of course, had grated on her nerves for _days_. Even though she was sure she'd despise his response, if he ever decided to give her one, it was worth it. That's what she was telling herself, but when she hears his boots, shuffling towards her, her resolve slowly crumbles, and she finds that she's as capable of being nervous as anyone else… though she's ever diffident to admit it.

When he kneels beside her, her stomach falls to her feet, and she cant take laying idle on a muddy floor while he either breaks her heart or says something far worse than she could imagine, like, maybe that Lori was just something to distract him from her, and that her kitchen is a committed venue in his imagination. _That_, above all else, would be devastating. Because, what then? What would they do? Nothing? Could she live and function in their mingled lives knowing how he feels, but unable to have what that would offer? No. She doesn't think she could. When his hand reaches out to her, she moves away, and lifts herself to sit up against one of the larger boulders, squinting her eyes under the small driblets of water still leaking from above. She doesn't dare look at him, but cant help but hear when he speaks, remembering the unfortunate statement she'd made earlier, you know, about having nowhere to run.

"What do you want me to say?" he asks, and she's sure he doesn't realize how small he sounds. "That I'm sorry? I'm not. You know nothing good could ever come from… from - well, from you and I. Your career would be a joke once everyone found out, and we couldn't hide it forever, as much as I'd like to. You said you wanted to pretend, for Chin and Danny's sake, and I told you that I would, even though we both know it's impossible. Working together… it's only manageable when the others are around. These kinds of things happen, and now what? We're both angry and…. I don't know what you want me to do. What _can_ I do?"

She doesn't want to talk about it. Not so directly. She hadn't imagined he'd let go of the defenses and come to her, all honest and open and shit, expecting her to say something. Thinking of what he might say was a lot easier than actually hearing it, and it's a lot more than she'd anticipated. Both vague and blaringly informative, his little spiel had effectively dislodged previous uncertainties, only to plant new ones. So, he did want her, but what? Wouldn't be content with a relationship unless it could be hidden? All because of her career. When she glances up at his face, half hidden in the dark, half illuminated by flashlight, her stomach is in knots, her chest tight, resolve chipped and unstable. She has to respond, has to _finally_ get this conversation over with because, my God, they couldn't keep doing this. Not when the circumstances only seem to keep escalating. And their relationship, professional or no, would be destroyed should an incident like the last one take place without proper precautions set and pronounced. She knows that, but her mouth doesn't want to cooperate, and she sounds like a different person when she finally speaks.

"I would have 5-0," is her proverbial fatality as far as this conversation, and she doesn't look away when he stays put, doesn't interrupt her. "What else would I need? Opportunity? Where? Everywhere else is a step down from what we do. I don't need anyone to see me a specific way, because I have a team, and I'm alright with that. How long do you think we'll last if we keep going on like this? I cant forget, Steve," and she cringes at the honesty, at things she knows she has to say to keep this from ending like the last time. Despite the necessity of it, none of it's easy coming out, and receiving it obviously isn't a walk in the park, either, if his face is of any indication. "I doubt you can, either, so why do we keep trying so hard? What if we just…"

_.. Give in? _

.._ Stop fighting?_

_.. Relent, let it carry us wherever it's supposed to go.. _

She blinks when his fingers grace her cheek, a baited blush creeping up her neck. What the hell is she saying? She honestly has no clue. Because there are several ways that hanging line could be interpreted, and she doesn't remember where she'd been taking it before she'd trailed away, let her mind wander to things she shouldn't. Not when he's here, in front of her, as uncertain as she is about whatever they've created between themselves - now just isn't the time for wobbly suggestions. But he's taken it some way or another, because he's scooted too close to her to suggest anything other than resignment, to what, she's yet to figure out, but the proximity is unnerving.

"What if we just.." he repeats, quiet. ".. just once."

She knows what he's saying, doesn't need an interpreter, but is surprised all the same. The same man that ran from a kiss is taking her suggestion in the most drastic direction imaginable, and seems completely at ease when he's running his fingers down her neck, brushing the fallen hairs from around her face, behind her ear. How did they get here? From silence to anger and back again, to avoidance, to a stressed decency, somehow to a comfortable working air, and now this. This. What _is_ this? She's never thought this far ahead. What she'd do should they end up in this situation, one that she'd imagined so many times, just out of curiosity, and is now being forced to face for real. She never thought… not after what happened in her kitchen… not after Lori…

"What do you want?" she's asking through a heavy breath, a little lost in the way he's moved closer, the way his breath is fanning over her face, cool compared to the stifling air of the bunker. "Tell me."

Because she doesn't know, never really has. They've never talked about it before, never let any of it out farther than what it had been the day he'd taken her home, and even then, nothing had really been answered. She'd been too scared to ask, then too distracted, and after it had been such a sensitive game, she'd lost momentum and given up. Now - now they're here, and everything's heavy again, but it's so different because of the words… words they'd refused to use before… but here…

"_You_," he's whispering, lips brushing over hers, eyes hooded and heavy. "You already knew that."

… here he seems unafraid of the consequences, because he keeps using them, keeps answering her questions, though they both know his fears were quite logical, and there's few things that could come of this. Few good things, anyway. Still, she's smiling into his mouth when she leans in, closes the distance, because it feels pretty good to clear it up, and he's taking her hips in his hands, lifting her onto his lap, and it's oddly liberating to be in such a position. Her mind whirls around their predicament, the fact that this place could cave at any second, that they could run out of air, that they could die of dehydration or infection from their open wounds, exposed to such cruddy conditions. Though viable concerns, they don't bother her the way they should, not with his tongue slowly creeping between her lips, and his hands trailing softly up her bare back. They're idiots, she decides, because who the hell does this? They should be trying to find a way out, though likely impossible, and trying to contact Danny on what's left of McGarrett's cell, though service was shaky down here _before_ everything collapsed. If it weren't for the intoxicating way in which he was tangling his fingers in her hair, pulling her closer, pressing her tighter - she may have been a bit worried about what they would do when it came time to, well, actually _do_ something.

"You know I only did it to piss you off," he mumbles into her lips when he finally pulls away.

Her eyes flutter open just a hair, and she shakes her head.

"Lori," he clarifies, breathless. "I only spent so much time with her to make you mad. Figured you'd hate me after that."

"I did." and her eyes are closing again when his fingers come across the skin on her shoulder, push the ragged remnants of the strap of her tank top away, and he presses a kiss there, just above cleavage she'd forgotten about. "It was a jerk move."

She shivers when he kisses her neck, her throat, when his fingers deftly remove the other strap of her tank, and the mangled material simply falls away, down her arm, and his lips replace it, only growing bolder as her chest heaves beneath him. She lifts her arms out and away from her shirt, letting it fall around her hips, leaving her bare, and the darkness isn't much of a comfort, because he's watching her, eyes brilliant in blues and greens, an intentness that makes her skin burn focused solely on what she's just exposed to him. It was bold, and so unlike her in such a situation, but it feels good when a small, appreciative smile tugs the corner of his mouth up, lighting his face, making him seem almost careless. His hands lift slowly, up her arms, over her shoulders, and down the front of her chest until his palms are brushing over her breasts, and her skin, previously aflame, breaks into chilled gooseflesh when they stay there, pressed gently, tentative and careful. It's not how she envisioned it, because neither of them are very gentle, not usually, but are nothing if not thorough, and she figures this is his way of discovering her, though a thick contrast to his customary austerity. Her forehead falls to his and she's trying to remember what he'd said, why they shouldn't be doing this, but the memory is lost when his palms are gliding around her skin, feeling all of her, making her shorts feel about six sizes too small. And it's when she's reaching for the button on the front, tugging at the waistline, trying to get them loose, that he stops and pulls away, farther than before. She blinks at him as he catches his breath, and dreads what that look on his face will mean; uneasy, contemplative.

She groans when he tries to disentangle himself from her, and grips his shoulders, pulling them back together. "Are you seriously about to do this again?"

It stings…. _again_, because she'd been about three seconds away from baring herself to him completely, no reservations, no concerns, and he still cant seem to let go of whatever it is that keeps rearing it's head at the most inopportune times. For her, that is. She's starting to think he's more of a chicken than she is, considering her consistent fears regarding her sexual experience, and his refusal to even let it get that far. Insecurities resurface, the ugliness of them wedging between sweaty bodies and previously contented activities, though she's not sure just how content _he_ was, now that he refuses to look at her, and has let tension work it's way into every muscle in the expanse of his shoulders and chest and face, his jaw ticking irritably when she lets all her weight fall on him, temporarily anchoring him to this spot.

"Answer me," she presses, moving to try and make eye contact; failing miserably. "I don't understand -"

He looks down between them and she follows, eyes widening at the large, dark stain slowly spreading across his shirt. It's easy to spot off the white of the material, and she wonders how she's only _just_ noticing it. Her own shredded, one-time tank top, pressed between them, is unrecognizable in a shade only attainable in the shittiest of situations. She should know; been there, done that.

"Jesus, where is it?"

She tugs at his shirt, completely forgetting about what she was just trying to do, and he's shaking his head, holding it down. "Don't worry about it right now," he argues quietly, and she can see the paleness of his face in the dim glow of the flashlight, hidden somewhere amongst the crud. "You hear that?"

Although preoccupied by the growing amount of blood between them, she does hear something, shuffling above them, loosening some of the dirt from above. She blinks when it falls in her eyes, tries not to sneeze when she sucks some up her nose. "You think that's them already?"

It seems unlikely, considering her luck, but then it'd be a welcome oddity, so she watches his face intently as he nods and glances up, breath a little shallow. "They were almost here when I talked to him, and we've been down here for a while since then."

She can breathe a little easier knowing it's more than likely Danny stomping around up there, and not whoever it was that decided to lock them in here and blow them to shit. Though the memory of Devero's card in their victim's wallet is unnerving, and weighs heavy on her thoughts.

She hears voices above, more shuffling, and her chest is a little lighter when she looks back at him. "So I guess we're saved."

"Yeah, seems that way." He moves her slightly, takes her shirt in a bloodied hand, offers it to her. "You should probably put that on."

She grins. "Don't think it'll do much good."

She tries to keep her hips still when his eyes fixate on her chest again, and his fingers come up to brush against her nipple, the most tender piece of anatomy in the _world_, she's decided, because she's on fire again, and she wishes he'd just wrap this up already. Though Danny would probably die of a heart attack should he find them in such a position, underground, both beat to hell. Perhaps it can wait… a _little_ longer.

She grunts when he pushes her back a little, frowns as he's pulling his shirt above his head. "What are you doing?"

"Well you cant go up there with _nothing_ on, can you? I doubt Danny would be able to contain himself."

Kono can picture Danny's face, red and surprised, eyes glimmering with amusement. She nods. "You're right. Give it."

It's disgusting against her skin, heavy with water and blood, sticky, thick. But then it's comforting with the way it smells _just_ _like him_, and she despises how the idea makes her all warm and fuzzy. As if.

The first ray of sunlight breaks through their little haze, but she doesn't look up, watches him with a sullen longing, thinking of going back to the way things were. Surely not after this…

"We'll talk when we clear this up," he says quietly, answering her anxiety with a kiss to her cheek. "We have to figure something out…even if just a temporary solution."

She nods just as the auger breaks through, and Danny's head pokes out, hair a mess, face a twisted mask of worry. "There you assholes are! God, we've been worried sick! Where's your friggin' cell phones! I swear, one day I'm gonna -"

Kono closes her eyes, smiling, and lets her head fall to Steve's shoulder as Danny continues his rant, mind a little contented, at least for now, with answers to she and McGarrett's weird little situation finally in sight.

.

Her ass is cold on the metal bumper of the ambulance, but she's able to hold the smile. She watches Danny's flailing arms from a distance, hears the muffled sound of his bitching through engines and other voices, and can see Steve's muted smile as he stares up at their friend. It's quite the sight; seeing him smile again. Maybe this whole thing turned out for the better, for them, anyway, because the easiness is still there, remained as they were pulled out, patched up, and so on. He glances her way and she raises a brow, stifles the amusement when he crosses his eyes under Danny's continuous gaze, and he's giving her this look; something a lot more impressive than what Lori got. Not that she's comparing or anything….

"How you holdin' up, cuz?"

She turns attention to Chin and gives a half nod, grinning. "I seem to be at least partially invincible."

He laughs. "Apparently so. Though I fear your luck may begin falling short should you continue on this way." He sits beside her and gingerly fingers the bandage on her arm, shaking his head a little. "What was the verdict?"

"Just cracked," she answers with a shrug, still smiling. "Nothin' too bad. They said Steve got the worst of it… he was on the ladder."

Chin nods, chancing a glance at their Commander. "So did the two of you settle it?"

Kono's eyes widen but she keeps her head turned away, trying to avoid her cousin's inquisitive gaze. "Well, uh -"

"- don't bother trying to cover it up," he intervenes calmly, allowing her a bit of space with the way he turns away slightly. "I've had a pretty good idea about what's gone on, and I want to know; will we be submerged in tension, or can I rest easy, knowing you two have come to some sort of compromise?"

She sighs. Chin and Danny are both nosey bastards. "We didn't have much of a chance, but we agreed to talk about it when this is cleared up."

He nods but doesn't comment further, changes the subject. "So, we found the body. Not much left, but Max confirmed that a gunshot wound was the C.O.D., to the temple, to be exact. We managed to dig out his wallet, found the card you were talking about. We're gonna run his license, see what's to be found about our Mr. Rebou, and what his connection is to Devero."

"Sounds good," she says, nodding appreciatively. "Cant wait to see him again. Pay him back for all that lovely time spent in the ICU."

"Be easy, cuz," he's chuckling, moving to stand. "Let's get you healed first. Then we can find our guy and ask him a few questions."

She nods and, for the first time in a while, feels comfortable moving to McGarrett's truck and climbing in the passenger's side. He fires it up and pulls off in the direction of HQ, only to change direction at the last second, and her nerves are revving in time with the engine, her breath cutting as soon as the truck does.

He turns to her against the setting sun, eyes brilliant in greens and blues… "Now, we can talk."

.

**a/n. Bam! Only took 700 years, I know. This one was difficult, I'm sad to admit. Wasn't what I originally planned, either. When I said it was DEFINITELY rated M, I'd had something else in mind, but then… I had another idea for chapter 4 and, well, it didn't line up quite right. So, the next one will, of course be another case, but will have a connection to both the victim in this chapter and Devero. Most of the cases from now on will connect in some way to him, and eventually lead to his being found. Now, as far as rating, this whole thing has been tagged M for language, maybe some violence, suggestion, and as of next chapter, lemons. Dun dun dunnn! Just a reminder so nobody is caught off guard.**

**Thanks so much to everyone reading and reviewing! Gah, I'm still surprised at how much attention this thing has accumulated. As horrible as it is, I'm ready to get this fic finished, 'cause I have another 5-0 fic in the works, another Kono/Steve ship, and I'm excited about it! =)**

**Review!**

**Disclaimer: I don't own Hawaii 5-0, it's characters or original plot lines.**


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